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THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 








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On the firing line [Page 338] 




The 

Hoosier Volunteer 


VTW3&* 

(\ 


By 

Kate and Virgil D. Boyles 


Authors of “The Homesteaders,” 
“Langford of the Three Bars,” and “The 
Spirit Trail” 


Illustrated by 

Troy and Margaret West Kinney 



CHICAGO 

A. C. McCLURG & CO. 

1914 


Copyright 

A. C. McCLURG & CO. 

1914 


€> 


r h 


W«*. 


Published March, 1914 


Copyrighted in Great Britain 


MAR 30 1914*' 


13. 3. fcjall printing C la., Glljtraga 


©Cl, A3 7 110 6 

H^O 


t/ 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I “ Pore Zack ” 1 

II “ Sammy Goodman, Will You Lead the 

Way ? ** . . . 11 

III Crooked Creek Bottom 28 

IV For the Honor of “ Pap ” 45 

V Treeing a Coon . 67 

VI Zack Begins Seeing the World . . 77 

VII The Ghost 90 

VIII The Broken-dish Quilt Ill 

IX The Army of the Southwest . . . . 120 

X An Earnest Champion 136 

XI The Guerrillas Out-Witted . . . . 152 

XII A Night Adventure . 168 

XIII Sammy Acquires John 189 

XIV The First Day 213 

XV A Great Victory 237 

XVI Delirium 255 

XVII Home on Leave of Absence 280 

XVIII The Reappearance of the Ghost . . . 298 

XIX An Interlude 317 

XX “ Where the Sweet Magnolia Blossoms 

Grew as White as Snow ” .... 328 

XXI “ First Ketch Your Rabbit ” .... 344 

XXII Sammy’s Last Skirmish 363 

XXIII The Old Stump 378 





















































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ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

On the firing line Frontispiece ^ 

A most uncanny, ghostly figure, draped all in 

white 108 

Sammy looked on in helpless rage . . . .180 

June days 278 














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The Hoosier Volunteer 


CHAPTER I 

“ PORE ZACK ” 

T HERE was plainly a lure to Sammy in the 
winey air of the September morning. He 
sauntered. His friends had always ascribed to 
him a thirst for knowledge of the lore of books 
surpassing, to a remarkable degree, the lesser 
thirsts of his contemporaries and satellites of the 
neighborhood. The word satellites is used ad- 
visedly, for even in that early day of his history, 
Sammy Goodman was a leader; seldom, con- 
sciously, a follower. The tattered and dog-eared 
copy of Webster’s Elementary Spelling Book 
tucked under his arm gave convincing evidence 
that he was on his way to the “ hewed log ” hall of 
learning, where “ free school ” was called for the 
first time that morning after the long, languorous, 
Indiana summer vacation. As he wriggled his 
toes through the warm yellow dust of the woods 
road, he was not thinking of the school at all, ex- 
cept with an occasional feeling of repugnance to 
the thought of confinement on such a day as this. 


2 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


There had been early frosts, and the arched 
roadway stretched before him a vista of color 
rampant. The maples were gorgeous in crimson 
and gold. The lordly beeches towered upward, 
still green and commanding. Glimpses of the 
bright scarlet of sumach bushes twinkled through 
the lower openings. Here and there was the 
ghostly gleam of the sycamore’s mottled bark. 
Dense foliage overhead and tangled under- 
growth beneath kept out all but the faintest occa- 
sional flicker of real morning sunshine, but the 
wealth of yellow and gold and crimson and green, 
of frost-kissed tree and bush and vine made the 
road of the primeval forest to glow with a dim, 
soft, warm, sweet-smelling light that was more 
attractive than sun to the woods-born. 

Frost touches the world gently in southern In- 
diana; so gently that the blush of the first kiss 
lingers long and is loath to go, and glows deeper 
and deeper in anticipation of the next caress and 
the next and the next and yet another one — all 
light, gentle, loving, never harsh or impatient 
or joy-killing as are northern frosts — so that 
while the fall is always sad because it is the begin- 
ning of the end, sometimes, in singularly graced 
places of the world, the end is so radiant, so 
peaceful, lingering so happily on in a calm con- 
tent in the decrees of the master magician. Na- 
ture, that the final slipping away comes without 


PORE ZACK 


3 


shock or pain or regret. And these days when a 
sturdy, barefoot boy in homespun trudged along 
the woods road to “ free school ” were only the 
first days of the end. There was no hurry. Let 
all the world wait while he and Nature played 
awhile on the road. Sammy did n’t express him- 
self thus, his thought did not even consciously 
shape itself thus, but it might have been what he 
meant when he said, as he shied a butternut at 
a bright-eyed squirrel peering around the trunk 
of a huge oak: 

“ Wish ’t I did n’t have nothin’ to do but gather 
a few nuts and pack ’em down a hole in a tree! ” 

By which remark, it may be seen that Sammy 
Goodman, now thirteen years of age, already 
considered himself weighed down by responsibil- 
ities and fettered by the mere humdrum of exist- 
ence. The peculiarly pungent odor of dog fennel 
was in his nostrils. It augmented the strange 
dreaminess of his mood. A copperhead crossed 
his path. It was with an effort that he brought 
himself to kill it; and yet he had been known to 
hunt for hours for these poisonous creatures and 
to put out the light of their inheritance-cursed 
existence with the keenest delight. But today, 
why should any living thing be hurried to its 
death? Bumblebees, butterflies, pinchbugs, tree 
toads, katydids, the birds, all the short-lived and 
hibernating and migratory creatures of the woods 


4 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


were dreamily rounding out their little day before 
the time to go. Why not let even snakes go in 
peace? But the belly-crawling were the natural 
prey of boys, therefore Sammy soon dismissed 
the thought of the ethics of the case with a hitch 
of his homespun trousers as he turned into Zach- 
a/riah Posey’s clearing. 

He and Zack were cronies. It was because of 
Zack that he had forsaken the shorter way to pur- 
sue this winding road through the woods — Zack 
and that haunting desire of his own not to hurry 
this morning. His blue eyes brightened antici- 
patively under his old felt hat. The pioneer boys 
had little leisure for recreation. It had been 
many days since he and Zack had been able to 
snatch a few hours from the harvest for a play 
time, and even these few days ahead of them 
must be made the most of — to and from school 
and at recess — for soon both would be taken 
away for the late thrashing, and then would come 
the “ com-shuckm*.” It would be winter in 
earnest before they could meet at the schoolhouse 
again, after these introductory days. 

He emitted a shrill whistle. There was no re- 
sponse from the dreary looking log cabin with 
its cluttered dooryard. Zack’s house was builded 
of unhewn logs only. His “ pap ” and “ mam ” 
were just plain “ Hoosier,” and had no such 
aristocratic notions as had the Goodmans. 


PORE ZACK ” 


5 


“ Now what ’s come over Zack? ” grumbled 
Sammy to himself, in surprise. “ ’Tain’t likely 
he ’s already gone — he knew I ’d be around this 
morning.” 

He made his way to the rear door and pushed 
it open unceremoniously, scattering a few hun- 
gry looking hens from the stoop as he did so. A 
slatternly dressed woman with untidy hair 
glanced up from the batter she was mixing in a 
pan but did not remove her hands. 

“ Oh, it ? s you, Sammy, is it? ” she said, in a 
thin, high-pitched voice with a slight nasal twang 
in the tones. “ I ’lowed you ’d be stoppin’ round 
for Zack. ’Pears like Zack ’s sick. He hain’t et 
no breakfast yit this mornin’. How ’s yer 
folks? ” 

“ Yep, it ’s me, Mis’ Posey,” replied Sammy. 
“ Everybody ’s well to our house. What ’s the 
matter with Zack? ” 

This friendly interest elicited a deep groan 
from Zack himself, who sat humped up on a 
splint-bottomed chair drawn up to the kitchen 
table, his head in his hands. He was about 
Sammy’s age and size, only chunkier, and under 
the clothless table, one could see his unwashed 
bare legs propped against the rung of a chair. 
There was little distinction in dress in that day 
and neighborhood even between the “ hewed log ” 
and the “just log” cabiners; and yet somehow 


6 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


the clothes of the two boys looked altogether dif- 
ferent. It was not in the color of homespuns, for 
while Sammy’s were stained blue with indigo and 
Zack’s brown with walnut bark, that of itself was 
not a distinction but merely the result of a rota- 
tion. It was very likely that the next time yarn 
was spun, woven into cloth, dyed, and fashioned 
into clothing, all by his mother’s own hands, at 
her own looms, Sammy would take his turn at 
wearing the brown, while perhaps Zack would 
be strutting around in new blues — perhaps, but 
not probably, because he usually had to make one 
suit last out two suits of Sammy’s no matter how 
worn or dingy it became. Zack’s father, not be- 
ing so provident as Mr. Goodman, had scarcely 
enough sheep to go round and cover the naked- 
ness of the numerous little tow-headed “ Hoos- 
iers ” running wild around his clearing; while 
his mother, being neither so thrifty nor so re- 
sourceful nor so self-respecting — “proud,” she 
herself designated it — as Mrs. Goodman, never 
seemed able to find the time to spin or weave 
except when driven to it by actual necessity. 
Therein lay the distinction. Sammy’s galluses 
were neatly mended while Zack’s were in a weird 
state bordering upon imminent dissolution. 
Sammy’s shirt was clean and whole which was 
much more than could be said of Zack’s. More- 
over, Sammy’s legs, while every bit as brown as 


“ PORE ZACK ” 


7 


Zack’s, had been washed before going to bed the 
night before and again before starting to school 
this morning. It was a reckless expenditure of 
water and energy, but then Mrs. Goodman had 
ideas. 

Mrs. Posey looked at her son anxiously as he 
continued his dismal groans. His shock of un- 
combed, straw-colored hair was all that could be 
seen of his buried head. 

“ ’Pears like he be gettin’ worse,” she said. 
“ Do it hurt bad, Zackie? Where do it hurt? ” 

“Ain’t you goin’ to school?” demanded 
Sammy, in unfeigned amazement, the real signifi- 
cance of Zack’s sudden illness dawning upon him 
for the first time. 

Zack only groaned and shook his head. 

“ He can’t. He ’s sick,” Mrs. Posey answered 
for him, commiseratingly. “ It ’s too bad. He 
sets such store by the school. Pore Zack. He do 
hate to miss.” 

Sammy stared at his friend suspiciously but 
he did not voice his suspicions aloud, unless his 
sympathetic, “ He does n’t look sick,” was 
double-edged. “ Is it colic? ” he asked, as Zack 
groaned more lugubriously than ever at even this 
hint of unbelief. “ Reckon you ’ve been eatin’ 
green paw paws or persimmons. Well, I ’ll have 
to be goin’,” he continued, turning toward the 
door. 


8 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


“ You tell teacher over yander to the school 
that Zack he’s sick,” admonished Mrs. Posey, 
lifting her dough to the molding board. “ I ’m 
jist makin’ him up some fresh biscuit for to tempt 
his appetite. His pap and the young uns have 
et long ago. I do n’t know what ails him. Is it 
your stummick, Zackie? ” 

“I — I — reckon so,” gasped the boy, “ and 
fever and aguey, I ’m a-feared — ’less it ’s typhus 
or ’flammatory rheumatism or pneumony fever 
— I don’t know which it is. Oh, I do feel so 
bad!” 

“ Maybe you ’ll feel better after you ’ve et/’ 
consoled his mother, hastening to roll out the 
dough and to take down an immense biscuit 
cutter. 

“ I ’m too sick to eat hearty,” said Zack, “ so 
you need n’t make more ’n five. I do n’t feel ekal 
to more ’n five, mam, honest, I do n’t. I ’m too 
sick to eat hearty.” 

Mrs. Posey glanced quickly at Sammy, but 
Sammy’s face was as sober as that of a judge, 
albeit there was a merry little twinkle in his eyes 
that the woman failed to see. It was partly this 
power of keeping his thoughts to himself and 
“ fitting in ” to any occasion that made Sammy 
Goodman so often seem much older than he really 
was. 

“ Pore Zack — he always eats more when he ’s 


PORE ZACK 


9 


sick,” explained his mother, excusingly. As did 
many others of the simple folk about, Mrs. Posey 
considered Sammy a very wise and learned per- 
sonage and she thought it just possible that he 
might think Zack was “ playing ’possum ” and 
she did not want him to think what was so obvi- 
ously untrue. 

“ Goin’ tomorrow? ” was Sammy’s only com- 
ment. 

“ I reckon he ’ll be all right tomorrer,” the 
mother hastened to spare her son the inconven- 
ience of answering, “ if I give him a right smart 
o’ keerin’ fer today. You step round fer him 
tomorrer and see.” 

“ I do n’t know,” said Sammy. “ It ’s a good 
piece out of the way.” He slammed the door and 
was gone. 

As he trudged down the lonely road, he could 
not make up his mind whether he was the more 
provoked with Zack for his cowardly shirking or 
with himself for not doing likewise. In his 
heart, he knew that it was only a question of a 
few days before he would hold school a Paradise 
as compared with thrashing wheat or shucking 
corn ; besides, he knew that when he once opened 
his book in the old puncheon-floored schoolhouse 
the overwhelming desire to know — just to know 
things — would supersede all else and he would 
be content with the new environment; but today, 


10 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


his bare feet lingered still, although he realized 
that he must be already late. He did not want 
to do anything today but just to be out of doors 
and to play like the birds and the squirrels and 
all the woodsy things and — Zack. But with a 
vague realization that Zack’s shirking school that 
morning was only another manifestation of the 
generally conceded shiftlessness of Zack’s fam- 
ily, and with a sense of his own responsibilities 
upon him because of his superior advantages, 
Sammy suddenly pulled his hat down over his 
eyes and scudded toward the schoolhouse. 

In after years, he often thought, a little smil- 
ingly, a little sadly, of his strange reluctance to 
hurry on that long ago morning of early frost, 
and of that intense, unaccountable desire to play 
by the wayside which had kept his usually eager 
footsteps lagging — just lagging along. For the 
time came all too soon when there was no more 
play for Sammy Goodman — neither for him nor 
for any of the young manhood of his generation. 


CHAPTER II 


“ SAMMY GOODMAN, WILL YOU LEAD THE WAY? ” 

T HERE followed a week of droning study 
aloud, wherein the dullest scholars made 
much the most noise, which proved Sammy’s wis- 
dom in wishing to choose his own benchmates; a 
week of heroic wrestling with the American Pre- 
ceptor and with Webster’s Elementary Spelling 
Book , ending with an exciting catchword spelling- 
down contest on Friday afternoon, wherein 
Captain Zachariah Posey, having miraculously 
escaped fever and ague, typhoid fever, inflamma- 
tory rheumatism, and pneumonia, went down to 
sure defeat because he had not been able to with- 
stand the “ come hither ” in Mary Ann Hamil- 
ton’s bashful brown eyes. The whole school had 
gasped in sheer unbelieving astonishment when 
the first choice had been made — that Zachariah 
Posey of all people should fail, when the lot fell 
to him, triumphantly to summon Sammy Good- 
man to his aid, Sammy Goodman, the best speller 
in the entire county, besides being his sworn 
comrade of long standing, just because he wanted 
a certain girl to “ set next him,” was incredible. 
Sammy himself could scarcely believe the 
11 


12 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


evidence of his own sense of hearing, but he 
managed to appear supremely indifferent to the 
surprise sprung upon him, and to gaze nonchal- 
antly out of the window up in the front wall, the 
only window, by the way, which the room con- 
tained. He did not have to gaze long. If Zack 
had cherished a faint hope that Sammy might be 
reserved for his second choice, he was quickly 
disillusioned. 

“ Sammy Goodman! ” came in such quick, ex- 
plosive tones from the rival captain’s lips that 
it was very plain to be seen he could hardly be- 
lieve his good fortune, and that he was afraid the 
chance might slip away from him, even yet, if 
he did not clinch it instantaneously. 

Not the least surprising feature of the whole 
affair was the fact that it was Sammy Goodman, 
himself, who was supposed to hold a peremptory 
claim upon the affections of little Mary Ann 
Hamilton; so that it was rather presumptuous, 
to say the least, on the part of Zack Posey delib- 
erately to call her to “ set next ” in preference 
to the best speller in the county and the more than 
half-suspected knight in homespun of this same 
brown-eyed Mary Ann. But this nine days’ 
wonder was finally reasoned out by the majority 
of the school to have occurred because of Zack’s 
well-known loyalty to and admiration of his boy 
hero Sammy Goodman. So unwaveringly 


WILL YOU LEAD THE WAY? ” 13 


had he formed himself upon his friend since the 
beginning of time that it was supposed by his 
mates that he could not even be individual in 
affairs of the heart. Perhaps they were right. 
Anyway, he chose Mary Ann and defeat with- 
out wincing and only loved Sammy the more for 
his magnanimity when he said, on the way home 
from school, chewing a sassafras twig medita- 
tively the while: 

“ I hated to beat you and Mary Ann, Zack, 
but you know a fellow has to uphold his reputa- 
tion — if he can. I could spell daguerreotype 
and I ’d a felt like a sneak and a liar to have said 
I could n’t. I think it ’s a sort of responsibility 
to do the best one can. I would n’t have cared 
if it had been anybody but you.” 

“ Why, I knew you ’d do it, Sammy,” said 
Zack, shuffling his calloused toes through the 
warm dust of the road. “ I ’lowed when I chose 
Mary Ann I ’d be beat all hollow, but I jist 
thought she looked as if she ’d feel right peart to 
be chosen first.” 

“I — think she did, Zack,” said Sammy, 
quietly, which further proof of magnanimity so 
added to Zachariah’s boyish adoration that he 
could only stare silently at his shuffling feet and 
so forgot entirely to see if the pawpaws were 
ripe on a certain bush that grew some distance off 
the road. He had known just where to leave the 


14 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


trail and plunge through the crawling under- 
growth of the roadside. It was full early but 
that was an early tree. By the time he thought 
of it, however, they had long passed the spot, so 
the little excursion was left for another day. 

And so Sunday came and with it Sammy’s 
glorious chance to get even, though, to his credit 
be it said, that was not his intention at all. He 
was not afraid of Zachariah Posey. 

In the old days, Sundays had not been happy 
days for Sammy Goodman. Even now, in retro- 
spect, they brought forth shuddering sensations 
of terror lived through but not forgotten. Hell- 
fire was still preached and awful warnings of 
doom were hurled from every meeting house 
where self-constituted, itinerant preachers, who 
believed they had heard a call, expounded, con- 
scientiously or otherwise, as the case might be, a 
grievously misunderstood Christian code; but 
Sammy, though only thirteen, found himself 
gradually becoming more amused than awe- 
stricken as he listened to the terrible echoes of 
that dread, paralyzing word picture which had 
issued from Kentucky and spread so rapidly over 
a trembling world: “ — hair-hung and breeze- 
shaken over the mouth of hell! ” His father was 
his hero, and though never in all his young life 
had he heard that kindly, genial, just man 
utter one disparaging remark concerning these 


WILL YOU LEAD THE WAY? ” 15 


preachers of unthinkable doom, or voice one 
doubt of the doctrine of literal brimstone whose 
hot and unwholesome breath had been breathed 
into the beautiful, sweet-aired, ancient-wooded, 
virginal valley of the Ohio, yet Sammy knew, in 
his own heart, that his father cherished other 
ideals of a Christ who came to redeem the world, 
not to condemn it. It was because of his faith 
in his father, and his growing belief that God 
would never hold that good man “ hair-hung and 
breeze-shaken over the mouth of hell ” for the 
very mistakes which his father so freely forgave 
him every day of his life, that Sammy, these later 
days, had begun to emerge from the awful thrall- 
dom of his childhood’s fears and to look the 
blessed sunshine of the world full in the face. 
But he winced, even yet, remembering the suffer- 
ings of those baby days when he first began to 
realize, with a sickening of the heart, the dire 
meaning of that oft repeated phrase — the Age 
of Accountability. That age was seven years. 
He should never forget so long as he lived the 
haunting horror that brooded over his days and 
nights — thinking — thinking — how very soon 
he would be seven — and counting the years — 
the months — the very days before that awful 
birthday. For on that day, his innocence would 
fall from him and he would henceforth be held 
accountable to his God for his deeds. When the 


16 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


time finally came, a new thought was given him 
which bred unavailing regret and clouded his sky 
for many and many a day. They were hoeing 
corn in the little cleared field, he and his brother 
Herbert — four years older. It was a blistering 
day in July. His back ached, his feet burned, 
and there was that miserable consciousness, no 
matter how hard he worked or how he tried to for- 
get, that God was watching him for he was seven 
years old today. And then Herbert had said, 
resting a moment from his labor: 

“ Do n't you wish you had died before today, 
Sammy? ” 

“Why?” Sammy had asked in wonder, spit- 
ting on his little blistered hands to ease the pain 
of them. 

“ Why, then you ’d ’a’ gone to Heaven sure — 
cause nobody ’s responsible before they ’re seven. 
And now probably you won’t — ’cause what you 
do now is sin. I ’ve always wished I ’d died 
while I was six. It must be awful to burn for- 
ever.” 

Sammy’s blue eyes had filled with tears and his 
little brown face had grown strangely white, but 
Herbert had returned to his own row, little 
dreaming of the woe he had planted in his young 
brother’s breast. He himself firmly believed in 
what he had said. He had lost sleep over it in 
other days, but he was older now and bore it more 


“ WILL YOU LEAD THE WAY? ” 17 

philosophically. Besides, he had never been as 
sensitive as Sammy; so he went back to his work' 
unwittingly. 

“ Oh, oh! ” was Sammy’s passionate, inner cry. 
“Why didn’t I die yesterday? Oh, why 
could n’t I have died when I was a baby and inno- 
cent? If I had only thought, I — might have 
jumped in the well or the swimmin’ hole or — or 

— stayed in the woods all night till a painter got 
me — and then I ’d a gone to Heaven ! And now 

— ” his childish soul stood appalled before the 
enormity of his responsibilities for his sins. Now 
he would burn forever. How could he bear it and 
live? And yet he dared not die — not now — 
it was too late. If he could only have died 
yesterday ! 

Yes, memory still made him wince, but, secure 
in the consciousness — how it came about that he 
knew, Sammy himself could not have told — that 
his hero father put little credence in a physical 
and everlasting fire, aided and abetted by his own 
rapidly developing reasoning powers, and his 
sensitive little soul soothed by the peaceful pass- 
ing of the years under the cabin roof of the pio- 
neer scholar from North Carolina, Sunday had 
come to represent to Sammy the most interesting 
day of the seven. It still had its drawbacks, for 
his mother was a strict disciplinarian and allowed 
no nonsense on the sacred day, but from the time 


18 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


he began to be first interested — after the paraly- 
sis of fear which was merely dread fascination, 
not interest, had passed away — then doubtful, 
then amused, and lastly sympathetic in a re- 
moved, superior sort of way — thirteen can 
be wonderfully superior, sometimes — : Sunday 
ceased to pall, with all its restrictions and with 
all its long and gloomy sermons on the terrible 
doom of the world. In truth, those sermons came 
to be a source of delight to him in more ways 
than one — as will be shown later — especially 
the sermons of old man Craik who was to preach 
on this particular Lord’s day which was to be 
marked by important events for Sammy. 

Old man Craik was a “ Campbellite,” and he 
hailed from Tennessee. He knew nothing of 
books. It was his proud boast that he preached 
from the Bible alone. He had felt no need of 
preparation for his holy calling. Was not ability 
to read the Word with an understanding heart 
enough? He had heard the call, had answered it 
without hesitation; and to the majority of the 
pioneers — to their credit be it said — his fervor 
and manifest honesty covered a multitude of 
faults, in the interpretation of Scripture as well 
as in the use of the English language. There 
were many unlettered, itinerant preachers of that 
early day whose motives were far from being as 
pure and devoted as were those of old man Craik. 


“ WILL YOU LEAD THE WAY? ” 19 

There were to be two meetings that Sunday, 
the morning service to be followed by baptism, 
and a later one to begin at “ early candle lightin’ 
time.’* Both meetings were to be held in the 
Goodman schoolhouse. People came from far 
and near. Many brought lunch baskets, purpos- 
ing to remain for the evening service. Other 
distant ones were guests of the families of the 
neighborhood. The woods, tall and vibrant with 
the secrets of primevalism, crept up close to the 
little clearing, and a circle of teams was hitched 
to the inner edge of them, while in the house 
the reverent company silently waited. 

“ We will now open the sarvices by singing a 
hymne,” announced Craik, when the last strag- 
glers had filed slowly in, and the “ hymne ” was 
droned forth to the bitter end, led by the 
preacher, unaided by so much as a tuning fork. 
After which, the long, long, prayer, and the 
longer sermon, in nasal singsong, rose and fell 
whiningly upon the listening air of the little 
schoolroom and then fled out of the open door 
harshly to dominate for awhile and then softly 
to mingle with the vague whisperings of the for- 
est, and finally to die away altogether. Old man 
Craik, as was the fashion of that day, had a fixed 
habit of sustaining his voice in a high, monoto- 
nous, whining chant to a seemingly measured 
distance, and as regularly dropping it into an 


20 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


expressionless, still singsongy, long-drawn-out 
“ ah—.” 

“ And now, my brethren,” he continued, after 
more than an hour*s dissertation on the Judg- 
ment, “ we are plainly told that the end will be 
foretold by signs — ah — and that there will be 
wars and rumors of war and wondrous miracles 

— ah — and oh, my brethren, has not the time 
come — ah — have we not seen signs in the sun 
and in the moon and in the stars — ah — oh, give 
heed to the miracle of the falling star — ah — 
it is a sign foretold by Christ Himself — ah 

— only last month a star left its fixed place in the 
sky — ah — it flashed through the air and fell to 
earth — ah — from the place where it had dwelt 
since the beginning of the world — ah — oh give 
heed, my brethren, to the sure coming of the Lord 

— ah — He said it should be when the stars in 
Heaven should fall — ah — and He will gather 
His elect from the four winds — ah — and from 
the uttermost parts of the earth — ah — oh, my 
brethren, have you made sure that you are of the 
elect — ah — and the star weighed full seventy 
pounds — was n’t that so, Sammy Goodman? ” 

The anti-climax was not altogether a surprise 
to Sammy. It was not the first time he had been 
called upon to verify statements made from the 
pulpit in the heat of oratory. Old man Craik 
realized that Sammy Goodman’s mental grasp of 


“ WILL YOU LEAD THE WAY? ” 21 


the contents of the newspaper was much more to 
be relied upon than was his own — as well as his 
memory thereof. He was actuated in his appeal 
by two motives. He was really conscientiously 
averse to making a false statement and thus de- 
liberately deceiving his people; and he dreaded 
that little spark of ridicule in Sammy Goodman’s 
eyes when he fell down on his facts. He could 
not rid himself of the feeling that Sammy always 
knew when he was treading on thin ice. This was 
one of the aforementioned delights that Sammy 
derived from the sermons. It flattered him im- 
mensely, this deference, although nothing could 
convey a more superb appearance of indifference 
than did his careless nod of affirmation. No one 
would have dreamed from his calm, matter-of- 
fact demeanor that he was wondering if Mary 
Ann Hamilton were not proud of his friendship 
and protection; and he said to himself, with 
patronizing generosity, that whatsoever the fu- 
ture might hold for him, he should always be 
good to little bashful-eyed Mary Ann; he should 
never, never repudiate his friendship with the 
little backwoods maiden. Neither could any one 
know the real heroism it required on his part not 
to turn to her where she sat across the aisle for 
her glance of sure, if shy, admiration. Hard as 
it was, however, he still kept his face serenely 
forward. 


22 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


There was another person unexpectedly pres* 
ent toward whom Sammy had an almost irresist- 
ible desire to turn his head, but he conquered this 
impulse also. If he had caught this person’s eye, 
he should very probably have winked — there 
was no doubt at all about the other fellow’s hav- 
ing done so — and as the person had dropped 
down upon a bench close to the door, and as 
Sammy was way up toward the front, plainly 
such a procedure would not have done at all. Bold 
as he was, even Sammy hardly dared brave the 
phalanx of righteous, accusing eyes which 
stretched between and which would have immedi- 
ately waylaid and withered such a glance had he 
dared essay it. He was surprised to see his friend 
at meeting. Old Dan Carmichael was without 
the pale. He was considerably addicted to the 
use of Kentucky “ cawn juice ” as his flushed face 
bore constant testimony, and more than consid- 
erably addicted to blasphemy. In truth, he was a 
past master in both of these liberal arts. And yet 
in spite of the blackness of his sins, old Dan Car- 
michael was a hero in the eyes of Sammy Good- 
man, Zachariah Posey, and all the boys on and 
in the neighborhood of the old Buffalo Trace in 
that particular spot of pioneer southern Indiana 
— and this notwithstanding parental disapproval 
and authority that often failed lamentably of 
enforcement, because the fathers and mothers 


WILL YOU LEAD THE WAY? ” 23 


themselves could not altogether resist the attrac- 
tion of old Dan’s merry, twinkling eyes, his 
inexhaustible fund of good stories, and his friend- 
liness toward all the world in particular but 
toward never a democrat in general. He himself 
was an old line Whig of the deepest dye. In that 
day, young people were still brought up in whole- 
some respect of the superior wisdom and judg- 
ment of their elders, so it is to be feared that the 
parents were themselves much to blame for the 
laxity in moral practice which welcomed this 
grizzled veteran of the War of 1812 to every 
hearthstone in the neighborhood — where the 
boys crowned him King of Heroes. 

It was from him that they received their first 
lessons in the wars of their land, and they derived 
therefrom a burning love and zeal for the hero- 
ism, the patriotism, of war; for these tales around 
the crackling logs of an open fire on a winter’s 
night were enough to inspire the ardor of Amer- 
ican boyhood, whose love of country ever lies so 
near the surface that a spark will start a confla- 
gration which, when the time comes, no chemical, 
no rush of water will smother — nothing will 
avail but the red heart’s blood of that country’s 
bravest and best. 

Sammy was an especial favorite of Dan’s, and 
the old man never wearied of telling his tales 
over and over again to this eager listener. If 


24 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


these memory pictures, inevitably faded a little 
by the flight of nearly forty-five years, and re- 
colored by imagination, sometimes showed more 
of the pomp and circumstance of war, and its 
golden opportunities, Sammy Goodman, listen- 
ing with dreamy eyes fixed upon the red coals in 
the fireplace, saw, also, with a strange prescience, 
the shadows in the background. 

Sammy knew that this friend would appreciate 
the situation of his being called upon from the 
very pulpit itself, and yet he refrained from grat- 
ifying his inclination for a backward glance, even 
as he had kept heroically turned away from the 
worship in Mary Ann Hamilton’s eyes. 

But that was not all. This proved to be a ver- 
itable day of triumphs for Sammy. The long 
sermon was ended at last, and what was that old 
preacher Craik was saying? 

“We ’ll now repair to the water’s aidge, and 
there perform the solemn ceremonies of baptism. 
‘Sammy Goodman, will you lead the way? ” 

And Sammy led the way out of the little 
meeting house with a nonchalant air of familiar- 
ity with the duty imposed upon him that was 
impressive, to say the least, the entire congrega- 
tion filing out from the rude benches to follow in 
the wake of the little figure in homespun and the 
stiff, unaccustomed shoes of Sunday. 

Old man Craik judged It well for the dignity 


WILL YOU LEAD THE WAY? ” 25 


and order of the baptismal procession to the 
waters of purification that it be conducted thither 
by a leader; thus all straggling, hesitation 
through ignorance of locality, and any unseemly 
levity which might arise with the scattering of 
the people into pairs and groups would be 
averted, and the Lord’s day decorum unprofaned. 
Who, then, better knew the way to that sacred 
spot of boyhood, the “ swimmin’ hole ” in 
Crooked Creek, than Sammy Goodman — the 
quickest way and the easiest, so that the only 
deep water near at hand might be reached be- 
fore the feeling of solemnity engendered by the 
impassioned sermon be dissipated? It was a se- 
cluded spot in a winding creek, much better 
known to boys than to men; and it had already 
been proved that Sammy Goodman would neither 
giggle, nor stammer, nor whistle, nor throw 
stones, nor stub his toes, nor run ahead nor lag 
behind, nor give way to any expression of ex- 
treme embarrassment, by one or all of which 
symptoms most boys in a similar position would 
be immediately attacked. Under Sammy’s lead- 
ership, the procession wound through the bril- 
liantly colored woods in a seemly and dignified 
manner, and those touched to repentance went 
down into the cool, dark, placid waters of the 
shaded creek with the benediction of peace and 
quiet and orderliness. 


26 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


But, after all, Sammy was only a boy and em- 
barrassment found at last the vulnerable heel. 
He was greatly surprised himself. He had 
thought that after the accumulation of triumphs 
this day had heaped upon him he would be bold 
enough to defy all the world and to meet the ob- 
stacles put in the way of the males of his kind — 
obstacles like embarrassment in the presence of 
a girl and reluctance to let one’s fellows know 
that one’s heart harbors a fondness for the gentle 
sex — like a man. By a supreme effort of the 
will, aided by the remembrance of his morning’s 
triumphs and his thrilled consciousness that she 
was glad for him and proud of him, he had 
courageously surmounted the first earthwork 
thrown up in his path ; but he weakened before the 
last and — ignominiously went around it. 

“ Say, Zack,” he said, carelessly, coming up to 
his friend while the congregation was dispersing 
— the newly baptized and their friends having 
first hastened up the bank and away to their 
several homes or visiting places to change their 
dripping garments — “ you pack my Test’ment 
home, will you? Pap and mam have gone and 
I would n’t ask Herb to pack it for a million dol- 
lars.” 

“ All right,” responded Zack, good-naturedly, 
taking possession of his hero’s book, “ come 
along, Sammy, most everybody ’s gone. My, I 


“ WILL YOU LEAD THE WAY? ” 27 


wisht I was as smart as you.” His freckled face 
beamed with boyish affection and veneration. 

“ I can’t come now,” said Sammy, with a fine 
air of regretful impatience. “ That ’s why I 
wanted you to take my book.” 

“ Ain’t cornin’! ” ejaculated Zack, in as much 
surprise as Sammy himself had displayed when 
informed of Zack’s sudden and alarming illness 
on the first day of school. When had it ever 
happened that he and Sammy Goodman had not 
walked home from school or meeting together? 

“ Nope. You see — the woods get awful dark 
and lonesome along in the afternoon and none of 
her folks could come today. She ’s terrible afraid 
of bears and painters and hants — huh — just 
like a girl. There ain’t been any bear or painter 
or hant seen in these woods since — I do n’t know 
when, ’ceptin’ at night of course, but then that ’s 
just like girls. They ’re afraid of their shadows. 
It ’s an awful long ways to her place, and I ’m 
kind o’ tired already. There she is waiting. No 
help for it, I suppose. Little f raid-cat! Dum it 
all, Zack, I has to go home with Mary Ann, and 
I hates to, too! ” 

It was thus that he got even with Zachariah 
Posey for the effront of the spelling match, al- 
though, as has been before intimated, that was 
not his object at all. 


CHAPTER III 


CROOKED CREEK BOTTOM 

“CJAMMY! Sammy Goodman! Get right up 

k3 this minute! Do you hear? Your father 
has the team all ready and the biscuits are stone 
cold! This is the third time I have called you! 
I sha’ n’t call again! ” 

And Sammy, roused from his dreams by the 
tone of real finality in his mother’s voice — which 
he was quick to recognize — awoke to the fact 
that the light streaming in at his tiny attic win- 
dow was the forerunner of a fair day, and fair 
weather meant thrashing and no more school for 
awhile at least. How he had hoped to be awakened 
by the sound of rain upon the roof! He tumbled 
lazily out of bed. Herbert’s place by his side 
had been vacant a long time. He had a faint re- 
membrance of a spectral rising in the dim dawn 
and of a good-natured admonition to “ get up 
before mam gets after you!” That seemed a 
long time ago. He began to fear that he had let 
“ mam ” call once too often. But his smile was 
so engaging and his forbearance so fetching 
when Mollie and Ama Jane, the baby sisters, 
pressed around him, begging him to tie their hair 
28 


CROOKED CREEK BOTTOM 29 


and button their dresses, that, with a tender 
smile in her heart which she was too busy to show, 
the mother decided to forget about the scolding 
she had been saving up for some time ; so she only 
said, 

“ Hurry up, Sammy! Pap ’ll be real angry if 
you are n’t ready for breakfast.” 

“ Well,” Sammy consoled himself, as he 
munched his hickory-smoke-cured ham and 
sopped up the red gravy with a biscuit, mirac- 
ulously hot in spite of his mother’s warning, 
“ there won’t be anybody at school today anyway 
but girls and little tads. I won’t be the only big 
fellow thrashing, thank goodness! I reckon this 
won’t putt me back a great deal.” 

“ Son,” said Mr. Goodman, gravely, “ Zack is 
a nice boy. I have n’t a thing in the world against 
him — as a boy — but don’t you really think 
that your father and mother make better models 
on which to fashion your use of language? Zack 
talks his mother tongue and he cannot be blamed 
for that — but it is neither your mother tongue 
nor your father tongue,” concluded this pioneer 
scholar, with the twinkle of a smile in his kindly 
eyes. 

“ Mary Ann Hamilton says ‘ putt,’ ” said Her- 
bert, innocently. “It is n’t her mother tongue, 
either. Now, I wonder if she is copying after 
Sammy here or Zachariah Posey? ” 


30 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


If Herbert expected an entertaining scene at 
the breakfast table because of Sammy’s known 
explosiveness of temper on those occasions when 
his big brother’s teasing went a trifle too far, he 
was disappointed. This morning, Sammy was 
still enveloped with the delicious sense of supe- 
riority and power with which yesterday had 
clothed him. He even felt at that moment pleas- 
antly superior to Herbert — Herbert, whom his 
boyish heart had idolized and built itself upon in 
secret these many years — so he could well afF ord 
to smile loftily and to put off “ getting even ” 
until some future time when forbearance should 
cease to be a virtue, which time, he reckoned from 
past experience, would surely come some day. 

Mr. Goodman had rented a certain piece of 
land on Crooked Creek Bottom from a neigh- 
bor, Hank Halstead, and had put it into wheat. 
Thither were he and Sammy bound on that Mon- 
day morning — to load and haul the grain to the 
thrashing ground on his own clearing across the 
creek from the rented strip. This thrashing 
ground was an index of the primitive methods of 
farming which prevailed at that time and in that 
locality. A ring, similar to that of a circus, had 
been excavated and the ground within the circle 
repeatedly dampened and trampled upon until 
it was as hard as a floor. Here Sammy and 
Herbert and other helpers would wear away the 


CROOKED CREEK BOTTOM 31 


long, weary, monotonous hours of the day in a 
ceaseless round of riding the circle — the hoofs 
of their horses beating the grain from the chaff. 
Remembering other days of riding doggedly 
around and around the ring when the sun beat 
hot upon his head and he was so tired and dizzy 
that it seemed sometimes as if his bare legs could 
no longer cling to the broad back of the horse, 
it was little wonder Sammy had longed so ar- 
dently for the sound of rain driving against his 
window when he awakened that morning. And 
yet in after years, some of the tenderest mem- 
ories of his life were associated with those hours 
and hours of the crude thrashing of wheat on 
horseback. Such a glance backward brought ever 
a smile into his man’s eyes even while a sob of 
homesickness for the old tranquil order so soon 
passed away would rise in his throat at the same 
time. For these reminiscences were all sacred 
with the memories of the best man he ever knew 
— the pioneer father who had not lived to see the 
passing of that old order. 

It had been an unusually wet summer, and, 
shortly after the grain had been cut and shocked, 
had come the heaviest rain of the whole season. 
Crooked Creek rose and overspread its banks, 
reached out and caught at the standing shocks 
and bore them out to the current of the stream 
which had become temporarily a raging torrent. 


32 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


They were torn apart and shattered and fully 
one-half of the fair yellow crop was completely 
destroyed. 

“ Man, are you crazy? v Hank Halstead had 
cried in angry and ugly concern over the pros- 
pect of his personal loss. “ I ’lowed you ’d move 
that there wheat back long ago! Didn’t you 
know the crick was sure to raise and sweep all 
over this here bottom? ” 

“ I am very sorry,” Mr. Goodman had an- 
swered, quietly, “ but I never dreamed of such a 
contingency. You must remember this is the first 
time I have ever planted on this particular bit. 
I was only following your tactics, neighbor. I 
never knew you to move your grain back when 
you farmed this piece, so, naturally, I never 
thought of it.” 

“After all this wet weather?” Halstead had 
continued to argue, heatedly. “ Any man in his 
senses, seems to me, would have anticipated just 
such a state of things as has come to pass. Just 
’cause a crick behaves herself one year is no sign 
she won’t act up another time, is it? Specially 
when we ’ve had nothing but rain, rain, rain, all 
this cussed summer? ” 

“ I should have counted it right neighborly in 
you to have given me a friendly warning — since 
you yourself were so convinced of impending dis- 
aster,” Mr. Goodman had responded, still quietly, 


CROOKED CREEK BOTTOM 33 


although a dark flush had risen to his face and 
his eyes — deeply blue, like Sammy’s — began 
to gleam with strange lights. “ You must have 
known that the wheat was left on the bottom to 
dry out before it was advisable to thrash it.” 

“ And gotten a laugh for my pains, like 
enough,” said Halstead, morosely. “ No, thank 
you. There ’s no telling you high and mighty 
ones anything. You already know it all. It 
was your business — not mine. Why should I 
interfere? You ’d have told me to go to hell — 
you were running this place. Well, I ’ll take 
what ’s left and call it square this time. Another 
time, maybe you will be wiser.” 

“ Not so fast, my friend,” said Mr. Goodman, 
allowing his glance to pass lightly over the de- 
vastated field while he mentally calculated the 
worth of what might yet be saved from the 
wreckage. “ The loss is, of course, a mutual one. 
As I said before, I am very, very sorry that this 
has happened, but as I could not foresee it, I 
hold myself blameless for the — uncomfortable 
accident. We shall just have to put it down to 
profit and loss. We-all hereabouts considered 
that the summer rains were over. You did your- 
self, Halstead. And it was too early for the 
fall wet weather. While I repeat I am sorry 
that I have not been a better husbandman, we 
will stick to the terms of our agreement, 


34 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


Mr. Halstead, and share what is left according 
to the contract.” 

Instantly, Halstead’s anger leaped beyond his 
control. He was a lean, dark, sallow-faced man 
of middle age upon whom the tyrannical wearing 
away process of uncontrolled passion, covetous- 
ness and greed had left ineradicable trace. He 
was not in any way the physical or mental equal 
of the big, clean, erect, kindly-faced man before 
him, with dark hair just turning gray at the 
edges and eyes so habituated to calm and content- 
ment and in-dwelling peace with all the world that 
even now in their sternness they could not be 
wholly non-understanding or condemnatory ; and 
yet the weaker man dared to let his temper fly 
in the face of the stronger, while he reiterated 
his unalterable determination to have all that was 
left of the wheat. 

“ It would be so unfair otherwise,” he cried out 
at last, “ that it would be no better than steal- 
ing! You think to take advantage of me be- 
cause you are — who you are, and bigoty with 
book lamin’, while I ’m only a poor devil of a 
cracker, I suppose you think in your big feeling 
way — but I tell you right now I ’m not — I’m 
every bit as good as you are and you will do well 
not to try to cheat me out of what is my own! ” 

For two or three long seconds, fate hung in the 
balance. Mr. Goodman was himself now so 


CROOKED CREEK BOTTOM 35 


thoroughly angry that, if he had struck then, it 
is more than likely that he would have struck so 
hard and so true that many things would have 
been different in the lives of many people. For 
fate weaves in seconds, though we are wont to 
shift responsibility by trying to deceive ourselves 
into the belief that the pattern was all completed 
before the world began. He had been likened to 
a thief — he, Gerry Goodman — but, by whom? 
Was it worth while to soil his hands and his con- 
science by knocking down a man like Hank Hal- 
stead, who was so palpably not a gentleman? 
Moreover, the terms of the agreement were so 
plainly set forth that, on second thought, Hal- 
stead must see how futile would be any attempt 
to obtain undivided possession of the remainder 
of the wheat. He, Goodman, would give the 
man time to cool off and to perceive the fallacy 
of his contention. So he turned on his heel, 
abruptly, without a word, and left Halstead 
staring after him on the wet and soggy field. 

Thus matters stood on that fair, early morn- 
ing in September when Gerry Goodman and his 
son, Sammy, were preparing to drive over after 
the wheat for the late thrashing. Sammy was 
already in the wagon and had taken up the lines, 
while his father was still puttering about the har- 
ness, when they saw Zachariah Posey, young 
Zack’s father, coming down the lane. His easy. 


36 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


unhurried, slouchy gait betokened laziness, good 
nature, content. 

“ Howdy! You’re a-gittin’ a early start, 
Mr. Goodman,” was his salutation, as he came up 
and leaned against a front wheel. From some 
wheat heads adhering to the wagon box from 
some previous hauling, he slowly extracted the 
kernels and chewed them enjoyingly. All the 
time that there was in the world seemed to be 
Zachariah Posey’s personal possession to do as 
he pleased with, and he usually pleased to let it 
run on ahead while he loitered by the wayside. 

“ Not so early as it might be,” said Mr. Good- 
man. “ It ’s all of seven o’clock. Sammy here 
overslept considerably. You are helping me 
today, aren’t you, neighbor?” 

He was now entirely satisfied with the condi- 
tion of the harness, but Mr. Posey still leaned 
against the wheel, and courtesy forbade driving 
off under the circumstances. 

“ I ’lowed to putt in the day huntin’ till I ree- 
collected that you was thrashin’ ter-day. Me an’ 
Zack ’ll both be up ter lend a hand. You kaki- 
latin’ ter pack the wheat from over yander on 
Halstead’s bottom this mornin’?” 

“ Yes, and, as it ? s getting pretty late, I 
reckon we ’d better be moving on. We must fin- 
ish this job before the pesky rains begin again.” 

He put his foot suggestively on the opposite 


CROOKED CREEK BOTTOM 37 

wheel and Posey regretfully straightened him- 
self. 

“ I jist met Halstead yander ter the cross- 
roads,” he said, in his slow, drawling voice. “ I 
’low ther ’ll be trouble yit over that there wheat, 
Mr. Goodman. He says ter me ter say ter you 
that if you teched ary bundle on his place, ther ’d 
be trouble sure. If I was you I would pack along 
that old revolver of yourn.” 

Goodman’s jaws came together with a little 
snap, but he only said, mildly, “ Oh, he won’t do 
anything rash, I reckon. He knows as well as 
I do how unreasonable his claim is. He would n’t 
dare to push it. However, I ’m all ready to thrash 
and I ’m going to thrash. Wait a minute, 
Sammy, I want to get a drink of water.” 

He went into the house and took a long drink. 

“ Well, we ? re off,” he said, turning toward his 
wife as he reached the open doorway. “ I am 
afraid we shall have trouble with Hank, but I 
do n’t suppose it will be anything serious.” 

“If there is the least likelihood of trouble, for 
pity’s sake, Gerry, leave the old wheat alone. 
There is n’t enough of it to quarrel over, good- 
ness knows, and I do hate a neighborhood row of 
all things ! I ’ve always preached how easy it 
was to live at peace with one ’s neighbors if one 
would just show a little common sense, and 
neither gush at the beginning nor back-bite to 


38 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


finish off with — just keep dignified. Now, let ’s 
do a little practicing. Besides, I do n’t like Hank 
Halstead. I do n’t trust him. He ’s as likely to 
do a mean trick as any man I know, though 
goodness knows I have no call to say so. He 
never hurt me or mine by word or deed.” 

“ And he won’t today,” said Goodman, confi- 
dently. “ He would n’t dare. And as there is a 
little matter of principle involved, much more 
important to me than the worth of the grain, 
we ’ll just settle the question right now and get 
back to our old footing.” 

He left the room, climbed into his place beside 
Sammy, Posey clambered up behind, and the 
heavy wagon creaked out of the barnyard and 
down the lane through the sweet-smelling, 
drowsy morning air. They crossed the creek, 
now subsided into its normal shallow course, and 
entered the field. Halstead was there and he 
came forward at once. 

“Did you get my message?” he asked, ab- 
ruptly, without greeting. 

“Howdy,” responded Mr. Goodman, gen- 
ially, as he jumped lightly to the ground. “ Fine 
weather for thrashing, eh, Hank? About time, 
too. Yes, I got your fool message — I knew 
you were only bluffing me, though. We ’ve been 
neighbors too long for a real rumpus. ’Light, 
boys, and load ’er up. Time ’s passing.” 


CROOKED CREEK BOTTOM 39 


“ I ’ll shoot the first man who touches a bundle 
of that wheat,” said Hank, unexpectedly, and 
with a deliberateness that was plainly forced. 
Dark circles under his gleaming eyes gave evi- 
dence of a sleepless night of brooding. 

“ Oh, come now, neighbor,” said Goodman, 
soothingly, “ you know you ’ll do nothing of the 
kind. You ’ve no call to talk that way. A con- 
tract ’s a contract, you know.” 

“ Contract or no contract, I mean what I 
say!” cried Hank, violently. “You’d better 
look out, Mr. Goodman. You ’ve been warned, 
and warned a’ plenty! ” 

“ Shucks! As Mr. Goodman says, you ain’t 
got no call ter talk that air way, Hank,” vouch- 
safed Posey, loyal to the best friend he had on 
Crooked Creek. His shock of blonde, sun- 
bleached hair was singularly like Zack’s, and his 
good-natured face was expressionless with a lit- 
tle too much placidity, but the eyes were friendly 
and trusting. No one could really dislike Zaeha- 
riah Posey, although many could rage at the 
childlike irresponsibility which could forget a 
thrashing engagement, for instance, in order to 
spend a long, beautiful day tramping through 
the woods with his gun over his shoulder. 
“ Everybody knows the rights o’ this here case. 
What you want ter go an’ git folks down on you 
fer? ” 


40 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


“You keep out o’ this, Posey, will you?” 
snarled Halstead. “ You ’re nothin’ but Gerry 
Goodman’s puppy dog, anyhow, glad to be 
kicked any and all times just so you can keep 
jumpin’ round his feet. I don’t want to hear 
another word out o’ you! ” 

“ Well, I, for one, have n’t time to waste argu- 
ing this little difference all morning,” broke in 
Mr. Goodman, losing his patience. “ You can’t 
bluff me, Halstead, and you know it. Take your 
troubles to court if you are n’t satisfied. All 
hands to work! Hop lively, Sammy! Now 
then! ” 

As he spoke, he pitched a bundle of wheat into 
the wagon. Long afterwards, Sammy remem- 
bered that the vigorous action sent a flock of 
blackbirds screaming away, but it made no im- 
pression upon him then. He was gazing fasci- 
nated upon Hank Halstead’s livid face. 

Quick as thought, without a word of warn- 
ing, Hank stepped forward and struck Goodman 
full in the face. There followed a breathless 
moment of waiting, during which time, the look 
of absolute surprise in the assaulted man’s 
kindly countenance gave place to one of quick 
resentment and of immediate purpose. As has 
been before stated, he was, physically, Halstead’s 
superior to an eminent degree. It was as if a 
fox terrier had snapped into the face of a huge 


CROOKED CREEK BOTTOM 41 


mastiff. His fork fell to the ground. Even 
then, he was not so angry as he had been when 
Halstead intimated that he was no better than a 
thief; but he turned upon his assailant, lifted 
his great arm and struck a blow that hurled the 
smaller man against the side of the wagon. 

Hank began to curse, babbling out profanity 
rapidly, without pause, in an expressionless way, 
as if he were beside himself and knew not that 
he was articulating words. He had not before 
shown a weapon. No one had really believed he 
carried one. Hank Halstead had always been 
a talker rather than a doer. Now, however, a 
revolver flashed out suddenly from somewhere, 
and he fired twice in rapid succession. The range 
was pitifully close. Again came the fleeting look 
of questioning surprise in Mr. Goodman’s face 
— then he sank to the ground without a murmur. 
It was very still for a moment in the yellow- 
stubbled field. No one spoke or moved. 

“ God! ” said Halstead, then, in a low voice. 
He turned suddenly like some wild creature at 
bay. The woods, the great, the ancient, the con- 
cealing woods were not far away. They circled 
the little clearing in dark, crowding phalanxes. 
Their colors were splendid on this fair Septem- 
ber morning of after frost, but he saw only the 
welcome gloom of their inner fastnesses and he 
turned to flee — to hide himself there. Posey 


42 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


read his intention and sprang forward in pursuit, 
but the man, with an ugly, “ No, you do n’t,” 
turned to shoot as he ran, and Posey stopped in 
his tracks. He was unhurt but one of the stray- 
ing bullets found lodgment in the brown, chubby 
calf of Sammy’s leg, and the boy sank to the 
ground, white-faced, wild-eyed, but too wrought 
up to feel pain or to realize his condition. 

He crawled over to the motionless figure by 
the wagon, hoping that his father had followed 
Posey’s advice and procured the revolver when 
he had gone into the house after a drink. He 
felt through his clothing but there was no re- 
volver there. By the time he had completed his 
search, Halstead had disappeared into the forest. 

The other helpers who had been at the thrash- 
ing floor and who had heard the shots now 
came hurrying up. In the quiet of that death 
which is too sudden and solemn for vain question- 
ing or idle speculation, with awe-stricken faces, 
tenderly they lifted the body of their neigh- 
bor and friend and placed it carefully in the 
wagon; then they turned to Sammy. His wound 
was not serious but it was bleeding profusely. 
He did not seem to realize it. 

“ He killed pap,” he whispered, strangely. “ I 
would have killed him for it if pap had had the 
revolver. Mr. Posey told him he had better take 
it and I thought he had it.” 


CROOKED CREEK BOTTOM 43 


Suddenly catching sight of the blood, the flow 
of which they were endeavoring to stop, he began 
to sob convulsively. The men bound up his 
wound and laid him beside his father, still in 
that silence which a great shock brings, when dis- 
cussion of it is so inadequate as to seem mere 
peevishness babbled in the inscrutable face of 
Infinity; and the wagon, weighted with its bur- 
den so much more precious than all the golden 
wheat of all the world that it would seem as if 
God himself must wonder at the quarrels of men, 
creaked its slow way back to the little “ hewed 
log ” cabin where a stony-faced woman with two 
baby girls clinging to her skirts awaited its 
coming. 

While it was on its dreary journey, one neigh- 
bor hastened away for the doctor, another for 
the sheriff. The physician and the officer of the 
law arrived at the cabin at the same time, but 
while one felt for the heart of the murdered man 
and then turned sadly away to minister to the 
white-faced boy, the other stepped outside, fol- 
lowed by Posey and all those other stern-faced 
men who were beginning now to find their voices 
and to fix their single purpose on the grim duty 
which lay before them. 

“ Who will go? ” asked the sheriff, briefly, and 
to a man, they answered, “ II ” 

But though the volunteer posse searched the 


44 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


murderer’s premises diligently, scoured the 
woods in all directions, visited the neighboring 
farms, nor rested that day nor for many another, 
the whispering forest kept its secret. 


CHAPTER IV 


FOR THE HONOR OF “ PAP ” 

E VER since Sammy could remember any- 
thing, he had simply worshiped his father; 
but since a certain election a few years before 
when he had been allowed to accompany “ pap ” 
to his voting precinct, this unreasoning and mat- 
ter-of-course adoration had taken on color and 
understanding until he began frankly and even 
generously, in his large, somewhat lofty way, to 
pity fellows who did not have Gerry Goodman 
for their father. At this election, a man had pre- 
sumed to strike his father in the heat of a polit- 
ical argument, and he had seen his father knock 
the fellow down as calmly and easily as if it were 
an every day occurrence, and then walk quietly 
away without waiting to see whether or not the 
man wished to continue the quarrel. It was over 
so far as he was concerned. He had obtained 
satisfaction for an insult. What more was there 
to be said or done? Surely, thought Sammy, 
there never was another man so big and brave 
and strong as his father. Other boys have 
thought the same thing throughout all the ages, 
with more or less reason and with more or less 
45 


46 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


intensity, but Sammy believed it with all his heart 
and soul. Even when a man grown, having met 
and known well many of the great men whom the 
stress of his day and generation brought forth, 
he never ceased to cherish, in the sacred places of 
the soul, the thought that his father had been 
great, too. This father’s having died young, in 
the full flush of his sensitive small son’s passion- 
ate hero worship, before it was sullied in the least 
by doubt or comparison which might have come 
in after years, even though unjustly, invested his 
memory with a peculiar sacredness and a faith as 
unswerving in Sammy, the man, as was that of 
the boastful boy who was wont many a time to 
brag importantly “ Pap could lick him! ” 

Yes, Sammy Goodman was sure “ pap ” could 
lick any man in the county, and woe betide the 
luckless boy who essayed to admire a little too 
freely some other man who was supposed to be 
a great fighter. Sammy was n’t much of a fighter 
himself and never began combat, but the fear of 
his tongue was a potent force which usually kept 
him free from such entanglements. He could 
be mightily sarcastic for a small boy, and few of 
his mates held out very long when it came to 
a question of Sammy’s talk. They generally 
withdrew all claims in confusion, so it soon be- 
came an easy matter for him to establish and 
maintain his father’s reputation in the boy world. 


FOR THE HONOR OF “ PAP ” 47 


It was not only on account of the superiority 
of his physical strength, however, that Sammy 
had placed his father on so high a pedestal. He 
also knew everything. Now, Gerry Goodman 
was probably the most learned man in the neigh- 
borhood, and was rather scholarly for his time; 
but he doubtless had his mental limitations, which 
boundaries, however, Sammy never discovered. 
It was a proud moment for the boy when some 
neighbor came to the cabin for information. Such 
instances were not at all uncommon, for Gerry 
Goodman, with all his learning, had the kindly 
and understanding heart that won the confidence 
of at least the majority of his neighbors. 

And now that this hero father was gone — gone 
in the prime of his vigorous manhood and father- 
hood — what human understanding could fathom 
the depth of the woe to Sammy? Well for him 
that the exigencies of the family’s situation gave 
him little time to brood; for his was the tempera- 
ment that melancholy lies in wait for — ardent, 
studious, sensitive, thoughtful. But, lying on 
pap’s and mam’s bed downstairs where he could 
the more easily be waited upon during the heal- 
ing of his wound; watching his stricken-faced 
mother going heavily, but conscientiously, about 
the multitudinous tasks inside and out which 
were now forced upon her; thinking long and 
long, with thoughts suddenly grown old, of the 


48 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


future of the little sisters, now prattling gayly 
in their play around the room, now weeping in- 
consolably for the big pap who was never there 
at bedtime any more to ride them on his knees 
while they waited in an ecstasy of palpitating, 
delicious hysteria for the moment when “ the 
horse fell into a big hole ” ; seeing and thinking 
all these things, Sammy Goodman received light 
to realize the magnitude of his new responsibility 
and strength to fight off, during the long nights 
of his pain and sleeplessness, the spirit of melan- 
choly which had brooded so long and threaten- 
ingly around his bed. 

He was so healthy and clean-blooded that his 
wound healed quickly; but it was while he still 
lay upon the bed in the “ sitting room ” that Her- 
bert came in one day to talk things over. He 
was not so much older than Sammy, after all, 
and Sammy was the stronger in leadership. 
Herbert had never taken to the work on the lit- 
tle farm. He dreamed dreams of the University 
and a career in medicine. The thought of suffer- 
ing and death was peculiarly abhorrent to him 
— not so much as a personal matter but just, 
Why should they be ? Perhaps, all unconsciously, 
the ghosts of those old expositions of hell and 
damnation were still shuddering through his sen- 
sibilities. However that may be, he went on 
dreaming, even now when he must be the man 


FOR THE HONOR OF “ PAP ” 49 


of the family, of men whose calling it was to 
heal and to save. 

“ The Poseys are here, Sammy,” he said. 
“ They want to know if we are going to thrash 
that grain. Zack and his dad will both ride all 
day for us if we decide to do it. They ’ve been 
mighty good to us.” 

“ I hope God will give me strength and sense 
never to call Mis’ Posey shiftless and no-’count 
again,” put in Mrs. Goodman, in stern self-accu- 
sation, as she brought a bowl of steaming broth 
to the bedside and sat down to help the invalid 
with his breakfast. “ One never can tell. I dare- 
say I ’ll be just low-down mean enough to be 
doing it in a month from now — but I hope not. 
She never had time for anything, not even for 
combing her children’s hair, or her own either, 
for that matter, and I ’ve thought a many an un- 
kind thing about her for that — but I notice that 
she has time to take care of my babies when 
I ’m strapped for time, and to comb their hair, 
too, and time to make chicken broth for Sammy, 
using her own pullets, too, when goodness knows 
she has n’t any to spare. I hope I ’ve learned my 
lesson — though one never can tell.” 

“ Of course we ’ll thrash that wheat,” cried 
Sammy, red spots beginning to burn bright on 
his white cheeks. “ The sooner the better. 
Good for old Zack! I knew he ’d help us out! ” 


50 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


“ But — what ’ll we do with it? ” asked Her- 
bert, doubtfully. “ I ’d rather just leave it alone, 
wouldn’t you? Nobody wants it — now.” 

“ I do. I want our share and I *m going to 
have it! ” cried Sammy, in a loud voice, and his 
eyes began to shine so unnaturally that Mrs. 
Goodman looked w r arningly at her older son. 

“ And — what — ” said Herbert, hesitat- 
ingly, “ shall we do with the rest? Posey says 
for us to keep it.” 

“ Haul it over to Halsteads’, of course,” said 
Sammy, excitedly. “ It is n’t ours.” 

“ But he has gone away, you know. He will 
never come back for it. He will not dare! ” 

“ I do n’t care,” cried Sammy, feverishly, 
“ you haul that wheat over to Halstead’s and you 
put it in his granary. It must n’t stay on this 
place. It ’s — it ’s — bloody. Thrash it and 
take it away, Herb, take it away — but you leave 
pap’s share. It ’s white and clean. You leave 
it here, I say! ” 

He pushed out his hands a little wildly so that 
the hot soup splashed on to the bed — then he 
turned his face to the wall. 

And so the grain was thrashed, and the bloody 
half of it hauled over to Hank Halstead’s and 
stored in his granary; but never a sight of the 
man himself did any one catch during the trans- 
action. 


FOR THE HONOR OF “ PAP ” 51 


When the harvest was well over and Sammy’s 
wound had healed, he went back to school, he and 
Zack; but he was changed. His responsibilities 
weighed upon him — tangible responsibilities 
now, far different from the vague, visionary 
ones of the dreamer who had loitered on the way 
to school in the early morning of a day in the fall 
of the year. Often, when he seemed to be labor- 
ing with his books — being always quiet and 
thoughtful — he was thinking more than he was 
studying, thinking his own thoughts and not those 
of the printed page. Sometimes, the tears would 
suddenly steal down his face. At such times, 
Zack knew, and so did Mary Ann Hamilton, 
that he was thinking of his father and not of the 
intricacies of some problem in the book, and both 
in their childish way tried to show their affec- 
tion, their sympathy, and their loyalty. 

A nephew of Hank Halstead’s attended the 
Crooked Creek school. It was during the noon 
hour one day in early winter when Sammy had 
scudded home immediately after dismissal, as he 
always did now, there was so much to do there, 
that a number of the boys gathered around this 
nephew — curiosity and interest in no way 
dimmed by the passage of time — and began to 
discuss the murder in much the same manner as 
they heard it still discussed every night around 
the fireplaces in their own homes. They were so 


52 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


intent upon expressing their own young opinions 
and in drawing out Bob Halstead’s views on the 
subject that no one noticed when Sammy again 
slipped into the room. 

“ Well, I will say this,” Bob was saying, “ no- 
body need think it was all Uncle Hank’s fault. 
Old Goodman was just trying his dead level 
best to steal that there wheat by some hook or 
crook, and when he saw he could n’t bluff Uncle 
Hank, he up and hit him right in the face — a 
mighty dirty, low, mean trick, takin’ a man by 
surprise that-a-way. I ’low there ain’t ary Hal- 
stead goin’ to stand for no sichy doin’s as that 
air. And then he grabbed the pitchfork and 
would have killed Uncle Hank for sure if Uncle 
Hank had n’t a shot him first. If fightin’ with a 
pitchfork ain’t the orneriest kind o’ fightin’, I 
do n’t know what is ! But old man Goodman al- 
ways was a low-down, ornery, quarrelsome, mis- 
chief -makin’ feller. That ’s what pap always 
said, and I reckon he knew what he was talkin’ 
about.” 

Mary Ann Hamilton, who, with other girls, 
had drawn near to listen, with palpitating hearts, 
felt something suddenly smarting in her honest 
brown eyes, and, in that moment, some part of 
her extreme, non-reasoning, non-discriminating 
bashfulness fell away from her and left her the 
stronger forevermore. This call to her child- 


FOR THE HONOR OF “ PAP ” 53 


ish loyalty and honor had come to her with such 
sudden and compelling force that it had to be 
answered right then. There was no other way. 
She never could have been so bold for herself — 
but having forgotten herself in the supreme mo- 
ment, she was very bold indeed, though her 
cheeks burned, her eyes were swimming in 
tears, and her cotton handkerchief was a crushed 
ball in her tightly clinched little brown fist. 

“ You would n’t dast to say that if Sammy 
were here! ” she cried passionately. “ You know 
you wouldn't. You’re afraid of him, and be- 
sides you know it is n’t true — what you said. If 
it is true, what is your uncle hiding for? Why 
does n’t he give himself up like a man and prove 
he is innocent? It’s ’cause he knows he’s a 
murderer and he ’s afraid and you know it, too, 
that ’s why, and he was a coward to shoot a boy! 
You would n’t dast to say a word if Sammy were 
here ! You know that, too ! ” 

“ Oh, I ’lowed you ’d stand up for Goodman 
on Sammy’s account,” said Bob, with a dis- 
agreeable grin, as he winked knowingly at the 
boys. “ Everybody knows you ’re in love with 
him. If you were n’t a girl, though, I ’d slap 
your face for calling me a liar, you see if I 
wouldn’t!” 

Sammy stepped forward. His face was white, 
his eyes snapped fire. A sudden swift silence fell 


54 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


upon the little group. The boys involuntarily 
backed away while the girls stared wide-eyed and 
fascinated. Something was going to happen. 

“ I ’m not a girl, Bob Halstead,” said Sammy, 
quietly, “ and I will call you the same thing she 
did, only in plainer words. You are a liar and 
a coward! ” 

“ Oh, I am, am I? You just come out doors 
and I ’ll show you whether I ’m a coward or not 
— if you dast! ” cried Bob, loudly, blusteringly. 

Without a word, Sammy turned and left the 
room. Bob followed him, and by far the 
greater number of excited pupils trooped after 
the combatants. The schoolmaster had not yet 
returned from dinner. His present boarding 
place being within walking distance, he always 
availed himself of the opportunity to slip away, 
even for this brief time, from the confusion and 
restlessness of the noisy pioneer school. 

The boys were evenly matched, nearly of the 
same age, both healthy, husky, farmer lads — 
although there were those who feared for Sammy 
because of the gunshot wound which had kept 
him confined for so many days. The two stepped 
up to each other and the rest immediately formed 
a ring around them, boy fashion. Sammy main- 
tained the fixed, determined look which had been 
there since his entrance upon the scene, and had 
spoken no work since his quiet challenge. Bob 


FOR THE HONOR OF “ PAP ” 55 


Halstead, on the contrary, talked loudly, abus- 
ively, threateningly, as if, perchance, to over-awe 
his antagonist, or perhaps to duly impress the 
other fellows, the most of whose sympathies, 
he felt, instinctively, were with the boy whose 
father had been murdered. He was evidently 
laboring under great excitement. He made the 
first aggressive movement, wading into the con- 
flict at once. Sammy was more cautious. For 
a long time, he kept himself on the defensive. It 
began to look as if he never would start in in 
earnest. The spectators began to wonder. Was 
he afraid? Was he feeling the weakness of his 
wound more than any one had realized? It was 
a damp day with a feeling of snow in the air, 
but already the perspiration was rolling down 
young Halstead’s flushed face with the violence 
of his aggressive warfare. His friends thought 
that he had already won. They began to yell 
their encouragement and to hoot at the “ easi- 
ness ” of the vanquished. Fired by these sounds 
of acclamation and mistaking Sammy’s con- 
tinued defensive tactics for cowardice, Bob’s 
bravado rose in proportion to his leaping sense 
of speedy victory. 

“ Aw, come up and fight like a man! ” he cried, 
tauntingly. “ I hain’t got time to follow you up 
all over this here county!” 

As if Sammy had been waiting for this taunt 


56 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


to usher in the psychological moment, he now 
stepped forward quickly and struck his antag- 
onist full in the face. It might have been that he 
was thinking of a blow this boy’s uncle had given 
his father in a wheat field on a fair morning of 
after-frost. Something put a great and unex- 
pected and stinging force into that blow of Sam- 
my’s, so it might very well have been that 
memory. Bob cried aloud in the quick pain and 
surprise of this unlooked-for development. 

“ You will, will you, dod rot your ornery, 
measly, sneakin’ hide! ” he shrilled, in rage, and 
leaped upon Sammy in deadly earnest. 

Sammy was ready for the onslaught, how- 
ever, and now the blows fell thick and fast, with 
the advantage seemingly on neither side. Soon, 
both noses were bleeding, eyes were swollen, and 
lips cut. The nerve the two boys displayed was 
astonishing. This was no child’s play. Neither 
dreamed of crying, “ Quits ! ” Finally, how- 
ever, Sammy succeeded in driving a blow squarely 
home in the already purple and lumpy face of 
Bob Halstead which seemed to daze that young 
game-cock. He staggered, and some of his 
friends ran to his assistance. Sammy failed to 
follow up his advantage. He just stood still 
and waited. 

“ I hain’t licked yit — not by a long shot ! ” 
cried Bob, at last, pulling away from the sup- 


FOR THE HONOR OF “ PAP ” 57 


port of his backers. “ Come on, Smarty, come 
on now! No backin’ out! I ’m a-goin’ to wipe 
up the ground with you! ” 

Belligerent in the extreme, the tone and the 
words; but it was noticed that he himself made 
no move. The onlookers had all stepped back 
into their places again, expecting an immediate 
resumption of hostilities. Suddenly, young Hal- 
stead stooped and grabbed up a ball bat with 
which some of the boys had been playing “ two 
old cat ” before the fight had usurped, tempo- 
rarily, all other interests, and before any one had 
time to realize the meaning of the swift action, 
he struck Sammy a blow on the head which 
doubled him up at once and he sank to the 
ground, unconscious, a crumpled heap of blue 
homespun, stout but pitifully still limbs, and 
white, bloody face. 

“ Coward ! Coward ! Shame ! Oh, shame ! 
Coward! Coward! Coward!” 

The air rang with cries of contempt, horror 
and condemnation from the throats of the young 
lovers of fair play on both sides. Some of the 
older boys rushed in and seized the bat; others 
hurried to the creek for water and dashed it 
wildly into Sammy’s face. Fortunately, the bat 
was not a hard one or there would have been an- 
other tragedy on Crooked Creek. It was clum- 
sily fashioned from light timber instead of from 


58 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


well-seasoned wood, as the yarn balls of that day 
and district required such frail stuff only in the 
various adaptations of “ old cat ” and “ town 
ball ” which preceded our great national game. 
Presently, Sammy sat up dizzily, and then stum- 
bled to his feet. 

“ I ’m all right. Let me alone, fellows. Do n’t 
any one come with me,” he said, and shuffled un- 
steadily away towards the woods back of the 
schoolhouse. 

The boys looked at one another questioningly. 
It seemed an extremely strange request under 
the circumstances; but they acceded to it and 
flocked excitedly into the schoolhouse to talk the 
matter over. 

When he had walked some distance into the 
woods, where it was so dense that the now bared 
branches and trunks of the trees concealed all 
glimpse of building or children, Sammy sat down 
upon a stump and buried his throbbing head in 
his hands. Oddly enough, his first thoughts after 
regaining consciousness were not of the physical 
pain which was racking his body, but were rather 
a continuation of those with which he had gone 
into the fray — “ He lied about pap. Will any 
one believe those lies ? I ’ve got to make him take 
them back, or else there ’d be somebody who ’d 
believe them. I ’ve got to fight for pap.” Now, 
dizzy, aching, bewildered, he yet was thinking 


FOR THE HONOR OF “ PAP ” 59 


that he had struck for his father’s honor and that 
surely Bob Halstead’s cowardly attack with the 
bat had only served to crown him, Sammy, victor 
in the eyes of all his boy world. To fight further 
would have been folly — mere child’s play. He 
was glad he had not sullied his hands and his 
own honor by pitching madly into one who did 
not know the first rudiments of fighting fair. 
Sometime, he would get even for that blow — 
but that was a personal affair and could wait. 
He considered that he had vindicated his father’s 
honor when he had brought that father’s vilifier 
to the pass where he must either give in, like the 
man he was not, or — grab a ball bat, like the 
coward he was. But — did any one believe that 
terrible lie? Not Mary Ann, anyway. Sitting 
there in the gloom of the chilly woods, he experi- 
enced a glow of satisfaction, remembering how 
she had plucked up courage to tell Bob to his 
face that he was a liar; and, as he sat there, mus- 
ing, a timid little hand was laid on his shoulder, 
and an anxious voice said softly: 

“ Oh, Sammy, I — I ’m so sorry. Are you 
hurt bad? ” 

The boy straightened up at once and tried to 
smile carelessly and indifferently, but his swollen 
and bleeding face made it but a poor effort and 
disproved the brave words he spoke. 

“Naw! I’m not hurt,” he said, but Mary 


60 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


Ann saw his face fully now for the first time and 
she gave a little frightened scream. 

“ Oh, Sammy! ” she cried, “ your face looks 
awful! It ? s all bloody and swollen. Had n’t I 
better run quick and tell somebody to get the 
doctor? ” 

“ I should say not! ” said Sammy, decidedly. 
“ I ’m all right now. I ’ll go over to the creek 
and wash my face and then I won’t look so bad.” 

He stumbled to his feet, but he was very weak 
and his eyes were swollen almost shut so that his 
progress was rather a blind one. Waiving all her 
bashfulness again in the pity of her womanly lit- 
tle heart, Mary Ann hastened to his side, slipped 
her hand into his, and guided him solicitously 
down to the stream where she sought, found, and 
placed a small log for him to kneel upon. 

“ I ’low that was the meanest trick I ever knew 
any one to play — to up and hit you with a club,” 
she said. “ He knew he was whipped, of course, 
but he ought to o’ been satisfied. The boys all 
think it was very dishonorable ” she concluded, 
primly, some of her diffidence running back to 
her when she saw Sammy emerge from his ablu- 
tions looking more natural. 

“ Do you think any of them believed that lie 
about pap?” demanded Sammy, quickly, scram- 
bling to his feet and wiping his face with his 
handkerchief. That last phrase of the girl’s was 


FOR THE HONOR OF “ PAP ” 61 


infinitely soothing to his bruised spirit. He was 
very grateful, but he did not know how to say so. 

“No, indeed! How could they?” declared 
Mary Ann, valiantly. “ I ’m sure they do n’t. 
Not any of them! Nobody ever claimed any- 
thing like that before. Not ary person who was 
— there ever said anything like that. He just 
made that up and nobody believes it ! ” 

“ Good for you, Mary Ann! ” was all Sammy 
found to say, but his poor eyes with the purple 
bruises smarted with the tears of tenderness that 
would rise at this brave manifestation of sym- 
pathy on the part of his gentle little friend. He 
was not so very old, you know, and he had been 
sorely tried of late. 

Somebody else was coming. Mary Ann’s 
quick woods ears caught the sound of approach- 
ing footsteps and she glided away. She need not 
have been afraid. It was only Zack — faithful 
Zack. 

“ Hello ! ” he cried, when he saw Sammy sitting 
on the bank of the creek. “ I been lookin’ all 
over for you. How do you feel? ” 

“ I do n’t feel very well,” replied Sammy, list- 
lessly. 

“I don’t wonder! That certainly was the 
orneriest, lowest-down trick I ever see played in 
all my hull life. All the fellers are down on him 
for it. You ’d better come along, though. It 


62 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


air schooltime, an’ if we do n’t hurry right smart 
we ’ll git a lickin’. I reckon you ’ll git one any- 
how for fightin’. Say, let ’s you an’ me jist make 
off fer home. You do n’t deserve that lickin’ no 
more’n nothin’ an’ maybe old Mitchell will cool 
down some when he hears the straight of it.” 

This then was the faithful Zack’s errand — 
and he would go with him and take a licking 
tomorrow for truancy! Good old Zack! But 
Sammy was too proud to run. 

When the boys reached the schoolhouse, the 
bell had just rung, and the pupils were filing into 
their places. The master was sitting behind his 
desk, his usually stern face looking a little 
sterner, if that were possible. Nobody opened 
a book, and the shuffling feet were still. The 
monotony of every day and every day just alike 
in the little school world had already been broken 
that day ; but there was something more to come. 
All felt it. Before ever the thrill from the ex- 
citement on the playground had time to die away, 
here was a new, rather a continued, interest. To 
be sure, “ lickin’s ” were not so uncommon in 
Crooked Creek schoolhouse; but as the fight had 
been an unusual one, so the expectation was that 
its aftermath would be an unusual licking. 

“ Robert Halstead and Samuel Goodman will 
come forward! ” said the master, in a loud, rasp- 
ing voice which boded ill for the delinquents. 


FOR THE HONOR OF “ PAP ” 63 


The two went forward. 

“ Take off your jackets! ” 

They silently removed their jackets. 

“ Now then! ” 

He collared Bob first and proceeded to give 
him such a trouncing as the masters of that day 
were famous for and which today would seem the 
very extreme of cruelty and brutishness. Bob 
howled lustily, wriggling tearfully in the master’s 
iron grasp and begging for mercy; but when 
Sammy’s turn came, he gritted his teeth and took 
his beating quietly. Perhaps it was laid on him 
a little harder because of this stubborn silence; 
but not for the world would he have shown the 
white feather then. He was in the right. As 
Zack had said, he did not deserve this licking — 
therefore, he must take it — quietly. But he 
could not help wondering if the master was ever 
going to stop. He began to think that he might 
die first — he was so very dizzy and had such a 
strange, unsteady feeling everywhere. It was too 
bad the new shirt mam had found time to make 
for him in the midst of all her other trebled du- 
ties against the time of his going back to school 
should be all stained up. He thought that blood 
was drawn from his back and shoulders at every 
stroke of the whip. That thought hurt him al- 
most as much as the physical chastisement. But 
a glimpse of Mary Ann’s face as she gazed 


64 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


blindly out of the window, the big tears streaming 
down unchecked, steadied him. She would feel 
very bad if — anything happened to him — and 
she must never know how near he came to scream- 
ing aloud just then when the cruel lash fell upon 
an already quivering bruise. 

“ Now,” said the master, when at last he de- 
sisted, from exhaustion rather than from inclina- 
tion, it is to be feared, “ I reckon you boys won’t 
fight again in a hurry, will you? What did you 
say?” 

“ No, sir,” whimpered Bob. 

“ What did you say, Sammy? ” 

“ I did n’t say anything,” said Sammy, shortly. 

“ I thought I did n’t hear you,” said the master. 
“ Well, what do you say now? ” 

“ I say I will fight any one at any time who 
talks about my father as Bob Halstead did,” 
said Sammy, deliberately. 

The school gasped. 

“Oh, you will, will you?” cried the master, 
with an ugly smile. His discipline was in dan- 
ger and that would never do. He grasped the 
whip more firmly than ever and laid his hand on 
the boy ? s shoulder. 

“ Now, what do you say? Yes or no? ” 

“ Yes.” 

The lash descended with renewed vigor. 

“ Now? ” 


FOR THE HONOR OF “ PAP ” 65 


“ Yes.” 

Again the lash. Sammy grew paler and paler. 
His eyes were becoming glazed. He was trem- 
bling all over. 

“ Got enough? ” asked the master. 

The boy deigned no answer. 

Suddenly, Zachariah Posey stood up. His 
round, chubby face was almost as white as 
Sammy’s. 

“ I ’low he won’t fight no more,” he stam- 
mered, confused by the astonished attention he 
was getting. “ I promise for him. He ’s sick an’ 
he do n’t any more know what he ’s a-sayin’ than 
a baby. You quit now! Sammy won’t fight if I 
say he won’t. Sammy an’ me ’s always been 
friends. He hain’t right strong yit from his gun- 
shot.” 

“ Yes, I will, too, fight — if I have to, Zack,” 
said Sammy, resolutely repudiating the friend’s 
well-meant promise, but flashing an understand- 
ing and a grateful smile at the friend. 

There was another hard, telling blow, and then 
something in the deathly pallor of the boy’s face, 
and an odd drooping of the figure, combined with 
a look of absolute unconquerableness in the swol- 
len eyes, frightened the master and stayed his 
hand. 

“ That will do for the present,” he said, briefly. 
“Go to your seat. I trust you will be in a better 


66 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


frame of mind tomorrow,” and, being still a little 
perturbed when he saw the utter weakness and 
weariness of Sammy as the boy stumbled to his 
seat, he forgot to administer the whipping to 
Zack which he had fully meant to give when he 
was listening to the boy’s insolent plea for 
Sammy. 

“ What will mam say? ” was Sammy’s troubled 
thought as he trudged wearily home from school 
late that afternoon. His mother had ever been 
a stricter disciplinarian than his father. A whip- 
ping at school often meant another at home. But 
when he told her about it, she only said, and there 
was a strange gentleness in her voice: 

“ Yes, I know all about it. Mary Ann stopped 
in and told me.” 

Then she busied herself in applying soothing 
lotions to his bruises, put him to bed, and went 
out in the gathering dusk to do his chores herself. 


CHAPTER V 


TREEING A COON 

S AMMY had but just fallen asleep — so he 
thought — when he was awakened by an ex- 
cited whisper. 

“Sammy! Sammy! Sammy Goodman ! Wake 
up quick! Prince has treed a coon!” 

In reality, he had been deeply slumbering for 
several hours, as it was now nearly three o’clock 
of a dark, chill morning in late fall, a year after 
the tragic death of Gerry Goodman; and, al- 
though he and Zack had visited together rather a 
long time, with their heads under the patchwork 
quilts to prevent Herbert’s catching the gist of 
their whisperings, as well as to protect themselves 
from any stray pillows which might descend upon 
them suddenly from out the dark of the elder 
brother’s place and cot on the other side of the 
room, as a gentle reminder that the night was 
made for slumber, eight o’clock had found them 
safely in bed and presumably asleep. Candles 
must not be wantonly wasted in that thrifty 
household — especially now that the supply was 
so sadly diminished, lacking the wherewithal, 
since Gerry Goodman had gone away. It was 
67 


68 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


one of those rare nights when, as an especial treat, 
Zack had been allowed to spend it with Sammy ; 
but there was no sleep so deep, except the final 
one, that could shut out the sound of his much 
loved dog’s voice from the young master’s ears. 
Prince was shaggy and mongrel but he was the 
best ’coon dog in the country, at least he was in 
Zack’s estimation, and, without doubt, he did 
have a keen scent for that sagacious little animal. 
Both Zacks would have staked all they possessed 
— which, in truth, was not much — upon his ab- 
solute infallibility where coons were concerned. 

“I tell you, Prince has treed a coon!” re- 
peated Zack, impatient at Sammy’s unexpected 
unresponsiveness. 

“ How do you know? ” asked Sammy, sleepily. 

“ Do n’t you hear him? ” demanded Zack, for 
once assuming the initiative, scrambling out of 
bed and pulling on his trousers, far too excited 
to heed the damp coldness of the room. 

“Let him bark,” said Sammy, indifferently, 
pulling the bed clothes closer around him as he 
felt the chill settling down into Zack’s vacated 
place. “ Likely he ’s only baying at the moon, 
anyway.” He snuggled down closer in the warm 
bed and prepared to drift off again into dream- 
less slumber. 

“ Huh! ” exclaimed Zack, resentfully, “ I ’low 
Prince has got more sense ? n ter bark at the moon 


TREEING A COON 


69 


— specially when it ’s way over in Chiny an* it ’s 
as dark out as a stack o’ black cats. There can’t 
nobody fool me on Prince’s bark. I ’low I ’d 
oughter know. Pie ’s my dawg. ’T ain’t very 
far, nuther, an’ I ’m a-goin’ ter git that air coon 
if you ain’t. So there! ” 

It was a long speech for Zack, but the dear 
topic of his coon dog inspired it. He continued 
his dressing doggedly. He was much hurt at 
Sammy’s indifference. 

“ I do n’t care if Prince has treed forty coons, 
I ain’t going to get up at this time of night. 
What did you wake me up for, anyway? I ’m 
dead asleep. Come back to bed and wait till 
morning. Do act with some sense ! ” 

“ You ’ll be sorry in the mornin’, when it ’s too 
late,” said Zack, conclusively. “ I woke you 
’cause I thought you had some spunk.” 

A daring thrust, this, for Zack, but somehow 
Sammy was n’t so awe-inspiring when he was 
huddled up in the middle of the bed, and it was 
very dark besides, and Prince’s far away but in- 
sistent barking excited him and made him feel 
strangely independent. He groped for the 
landing. 

“ What you going to do? ” demanded Sammy, 
wide awake at last, and sitting up suddenfy. 

“ I ’m a-goin’ ter git that air coon,” said Zack, 
with dignity. 


70 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


“ What you young ’uns up to, anyway? ” cried 
a voice from the opposite comer, husky with 
sleepy indignation. “ Get into bed and shut up. 
’ T ain’t near time to get up yet, ? ’ and, turning 
over, Herbert was asleep again. 

“Wait for me, Zack,” whispered Sammy, 
much excited now that he was thoroughly aroused. 
“ I ’m going, too.” 

“ You ’ll have to hurry a right smart then,” 
returned Zack, only half mollified at this tardy 
response. 

“ Sh — sh — ! We mustn’t wake mam nor 
the girls ! ” 

Sammy dressed quickly and the two boys crept 
down the stairs on tiptoe and opened the door 
softly. It was very dark. There was as yet no 
hint of dawn. It almost seemed, so dense was the 
blackness, that it could be cut with a knife. 
Prince’s persistent, triumphant barking, however, 
was reassuring and their companionship made 
them temporarily bold. Most young people of 
that day and neighborhood, nor was it always con- 
fined to the young, by any means, cherished a 
belief in “ hants,” a half belief by day, but a good 
whole one by night, and this faith was none the 
less sincere because more often than not it was 
unconfessed, and even wordily repudiated, when 
occasion demanded. But both lads silently braced 
themselves with the thought that ghosts seldom. 


TREEING A COON 


71 


if ever, manifested themselves to more than one 
person at a time. Verily, in union there is 
strength. And then, as they rather breathlessly 
followed the sound of the distant baying of the 
hound over toward Halstead’s woods, the late 
moon, dissipated looking and far on the wane, 
slipped into the sky. They breathed more freely. 
But once in the deep woods where the weird 
moonlight did not penetrate, and where the dark- 
ness was so still that the pumping of their hearts 
sounded like the beat of drums, and the rustle of 
a fallen leaf underfoot caused them to clutch each 
other convulsively, they experienced a demoraliz- 
ing sense of “ creepiness,” and instinctively crept 
closer together, listening to the awful stillness 
which ruled the forest except for the barking of 
the excited dog, which is always a mournful 
sound at night, even when it signifies a treed 
coon, and for the faint stirring of the woods folk 
which was fraught with so much of mystery to 
the imaginations of Sammy and Zack. 

It was a vast relief to finally find the dog, hark- 
ing vociferously at the foot of a small Jack Oak 
tree, and they sat down close beside him, glad of 
his company and courageously resolving to stay 
there until daylight, when Mr. Raccoon would 
be an easy target for the old squirrel rifle. Prince 
understood and crouched at their feet. The need 
for voicing the fact of his find was no more, but 


72 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


he was keenly and constantly on the alert, never- 
theless, to prevent the coon’s giving them the 
slip. 

W ould daylight never come ? W ould the night 
never lift itself from the clinging woods and melt 
away into nothingness? What would they do if 
they should suddenly hear the snarl of a 
“ painter ” about to spring, and should catch the 
gleam of its fiery eyes from out the dark? At 
first, the boys had been too excited to get drowsy; 
now, as the excitement abated and the weirdness 
and mystery of the night crept around them, 
touched them, enfolded them, dominated them, 
craven fear took its place, combated sleepiness 
and conquered. 

“ Sammy, do n’t you believe in hants — really 
and truly? ” asked Zack, in an awed whisper. 

“Naw! I should say I don’t,” replied 
Sammy, in a rather shaky voice, but with a vast 
assumption of well-grounded faith in what he 
said and of scouting ridicule of Zack’s suggestion. 

“ I ’ve heard tell a passel o’ times that there 
was hants in these here woods. Folks has seen 
’em.” 

“ I do n’t believe it. Just lies. They wanted 
to make a sensation, or else thej r were so scared 
themselves that they saw creatures of the imagi- 
nation,” said Sammy, grandiloquently, though 
his heart was beating like a trip-hammer. “ I 


TREEING A COON 73 

do n’t believe there ’s ary a hant this side of King- 
dom Come.” 

“ Folks do say these here woods is hanted by 
your pap’s ghost,” persisted Zack. “ Heaps o’ 
folks hereabouts have seen it, Sammy, an’ ’lowed 
it resembled your pap a right smart. They ’ve 
heerd strange noises, too, a passel o’ times, an’ 
seen lights a-flittin’ about — maybe right here — 
oh, Gawd, Sammy,” he broke off, suddenly, while 
his chubby, tow-crowned face went pale in the 
dark, “ let ’s go back! ” 

“ ’T was n’t anything but dry leaves rustling,” 
protested Sammy, determined to stick it out, 
since he had come, until — well, until no mortal 
man could bear it longer. His heart had jumped, 
too, at the sound of the faint but unmistakable 
rustling of leaves, but he was not completely 
routed yet. 

“ What made ’em rustle, Sammy? ” quavered 
Zack. 

“ I dunno, squirrel maybe, or a mouse, or a 
snake, or a stray cow — maybe the wind ’s getting 
up.” He was valiantly striving to prop up his 
own courage. 

“ Sounded like somebody walkin’ — there ’t is 
agin,” gasped the now demoralized Zack. 

“ Ghosts do n’t walk,” said Sammy, trying to 
take comfort to himself in the statement. “ They 
just float through the air.” 


74 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


44 But I thought you did n’t believe in ’em,” 
cried Zack, completely terror-stricken. He had 
so depended upon Sammy’s large and comfort- 
able unbelief. 

“ I meant, of course, if there were ghosts, which 
there are n’t. I wish it was pap. I would n’t be 
afraid of his ghost. Maybe he ? d tell me where 
to find Hank Halstead. Maybe that ’s what he 
comes here for — if he comes — to tell some- 
body—” 

“ Look at Prince! ” interrupted Zack, hoarsely. 

The dog was moving restlessly; and now the 
sound of the rustling leaves was continuous and 
was coming nearer. Prince growled and his neck 
bristles stood up. He crept closer to the boys 
and there was a cowardly droop to his tail. How 
dark it was under the trees, and even where the 
moonlight filtered through the open spaces, it 
was the weird, shadowy, creepy light of a late 
and waning moon. Nearer and nearer came the 
sound. It seemed to be approaching them di- 
rectly. Footsteps ! The boys clutched each other 
in real terror. The dog’s low growling became 
a whine of fear. Terror held them riveted to the 
spot. They would have run if they had not been 
too paralyzed with fright to think of it. 

44 Your — pap — would n’t hurt us, would he, 
Sammy?” quavered Zack, huskily. 44 Tell him 
who you are. It’s Sammy, Mr. Goodman!” 


TREEING A COON 75 

He tried to call the words aloud, but his voice 
died in a gasping gurgle of fear. 

“ Keep still, can’t you? ” cautioned Sammy, 
impatiently. “ Did n’t I tell you hants do n’t 
walk? ” He was afraid, too, deathly afraid, but 
not of the supernatural, now. It was an un- 
earthly hour for human prowlers — he knew that 
by his own uncanny feeling of out-of-placeness 
— and it might bode no good for somebody. 
“ Do n’t you dast to speak out loud! Sh! Sh! ” 
He put a quieting hand on Prince’s head. 

N earer — nearer — nearer — straight toward 
them came the rustling footsteps. The boys 
scarcely breathed. When perhaps twenty feet 
from the unsuspected Jack Oak, beneath which 
crouched and trembled two blanehed-faced 
boys and a drooping-tailed dog, and in whose 
branches clung with a sharp and watchful eye 
and a beating heart the raccoon of their desire, 
the footsteps veered off and went toward the 
bank of Crooked Creek on the right. There was 
a clearing on the bank at this place and the 
ghostly moonlight lay quiet upon the ground like 
a huge sheeted shape asleep. Into this patch of 
pale light, from out the encircling shadow, 
stepped a man. He crossed it and disappeared 
over the bank of the creek. 

There was a moment’s breathless pause; then, 
without a word, the boys rose up and ran. They 


76 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


ran with all the might they had and the dog fol- 
lowed them. When they were once more safely 
in bed with the covers pulled up, Zack asked 
Sammy a question. 

“ Who was it, Sammy? Did you know him? ” 

“ Yes,” said Sammy, in a strange quiet little 
voice, not whispering this time. “ I knew him. 
It was Hank Halstead.” 

“ I lowed it were,” said Zack. 

Meanwhile, the bright-eyed, wild thing in the 
Jack Oak tree slipped warily down and was safe. 


CHAPTER VI 


ZACK BEGINS SEEING THE WORLD 

W HEN Zachariah Posey, in early June of 
’61, sauntered into Mrs. Goodman’s 
Idtchen, where that energetic lady was busily en- 
gaged in washing the breakfast dishes, he was the 
same simple-hearted, awkward, chubby, tow- 
headed, good-natured, easy-going young fellow 
that he had been in his coon hunting days. Also, 
he was still Sammy’s faithful satellite. Sammy 
was at the State University and Herbert was in 
his last year at Rush Medical. How the dreams 
of the fatherless boys had thus come true was a 
tale of thrift and economy and self-denial. 

“ Howdy, Zack,” said Mrs. Goodman, without 
taking her hands from the steaming pan. 

“ Howdy, Mis’ Goodman,” said Zack. 

“ Have a chair. The girls are out feeding the 
chickens.” 

“ I ’low I hain’t got time to set this mornin’. 
I heerd Sammy was cornin’ home right away an’ 
I ’lowed I ’d come over ter ask you about ’n it. 
Is it true? ” 

“ Yes, he ’s coming tomorrow.” 

“ Well, I declar’! It ’ll sure be nice ter have 
77 


78 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


him home ag’in won’t it? Schoolin ’s a lone- 
some business, ain’t it, Mis’ Goodman? You 
goin’ ter Lagoottee or air the girls agoin’? ” 

“ Why, to tell the truth, Zack,” said Mrs. 
Goodman, “ I had planned on going myself. 
Rut it is hard for me to get away, there is so 
much to tend to with the boys gone, and the girls 
are no account at all left to do things alone, and 
yet I dislike to have them go alone to Lagoottee. 
I just happened to think, as you came in, why 
could n’t you go? ” 

“ Why, I ’d like ter go powerful well, Mis’ 
Goodman. I hain’t never been ter Lagoottee, 
but I ’low I kin find the way.” 

“ You can take the old cany-all, and the girls 
can go along for company. You ’ll have to start 
real early in the morning, for it ’s twenty miles, 
and bad roads. The train gets in at about seven 
o’clock in the evening, so you will have to stay all 
night and start back the next day. Sammy ’ll 
show you where to go,” concluded Mrs. Good- 
man, scrubbing the rough boards of her kitchen 
table vigorously. 

“ I never saw a train o 5 keers in my life,” said 
Zack, a far-away look in his eyes. “ I ’low I ’ll 
be purt’ nigh skert ter death when they come 
a-rollin’ in. I hain’t seen much for a boy o’ my 
age, have I ? ” 

“No, you have n’t, Zack, that ’s very true. 


SEEING THE WORLD 


79 


But you are about to make a good beginning 
and you ’ll likely see a great deal before you are 
through with life.’* 

“ I ’low I will, if I go ter the war.” 

“ Why, Zack, you are n’t thinking seriously of 
going, are you? ” Mrs. Goodman laid down her 
scrubbing brush and turned to the boy, a look of 
surprise on her already lined but still attractive 
face. 

“I be,” responded Zack, placidly. “Aleck 
Moses air a-gittin’ up a company now over yan- 
der ter Jasper.” 

“ But you are n’t old enough! You are only a 
boy! War is for men, Zack, it ’s a man’s game. 
Oh, surely, God will not ask it of the boys ! ” 

“ I ’m eighteen, an’ so ’s Sammy,” said Zack, 
with unruffled serenity. “ I ’d ’ve ’listed afore 
only I ’ve been sort o’ waitin’ for Sammy. Do 
you ’low he ’ll jine, Mis’ Goodman? ” 

“ If it is n’t all over before he gets a chance, 
I suppose he will,” replied Mrs. Goodman, 
shortly, returning to her work with a set face. 
“ Sammy always was venturesome — and then 
he ’s all his life been carried away by that drunken 
old Carmichael’s fool yarns — God forgive me 
for calling names now, but it ’s true. I suppose 
that ’s what ’s ailing you, too, Zack. Well, I 
should be some worried if I thought this war talk 
amounted to anything. I ’m only hoping it will 


80 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


be over before you fool boys get to Jasper, and 
I ’m thinking it will. Sammy can’t go till har- 
vest is over.” 

“ Why, Mis’ Goodman,” cried Zack, conster- 
nation in his voice. “ You must please let him 
go before that ! Why, I ? low we ’d miss the whole 
shebang if we waited that long! ” 

“ But you would n’t have to wait for Sammy, 
Zack. If you felt you ought to go, you could go, 
you know.” 

“ ’T wculd n’t be no fun ’thout Sammy,” said 
Zack, simply. 

Mollie and Ama Jane had been to the town 
before and their faces were full of pride as they 
piloted their big, bashful, homespun friend 
around the little railroad village snuggling down 
among the gentle Indiana hills, and they told 
him over and over again the little they knew, 
each striving to outdo the other in the telling. 

“ That there ’s the store where Sammy buyed 
me the candy,” cried Ama Jane, her big, dark 
blue eyes dancing again in mere remembrance of 
that glorious event which had lightened even the 
gloom of Sammy’s going away to college. Ama 
J ane had a hero, and that hero was Sammy. She 
had long ago decided that the man she married 
must be like Sammy in every particular, even to 
the trying habit of pulling her small nose and 
then pretending he had it between his fingers 


SEEING THE WORLD 


81 


when everybody knew it was only his thumb. 
“ That there ’s the very place, Zack! ” and she 
emphasized her information by a coy glance up 
into his face, rapt and awestruck by the sights of 
the town. But Mollie, being older and wiser 
and much, much more practical, knew that it was 
useless, for even if Zack had understood Ama 
Jane’s longing and artless pleading, she realized 
that the chances of there being a penny in his 
pocket were very slight. 

“ I think it is time to go to the depot,” she said, 
tactfully, to save her friend from the embarrass- 
ment of a more direct asking. “We mustn’t 
be late. Whatever would Sammy think? ” 

“ Whereaway is the place where the keers come 
in at, Mollie?” questioned Zack, with a vague 
glance around and then above, as if he half ex- 
pected that they might come shooting across the 
deep blue of the placid sky and that the filmy 
white clouds streaking it here and there might be 
the trail of smoke that they life behind. 

“ I know,” said Ama Jane, eagerly. “ It ’s 
over thataway. That big house over there — see 
it, Zackie? That ’s it — that ’s the depot where 
Sammy ’ll get off at.” 

“ Oh, no, Ama Jane,” said Mollie, gently. “ I 
think Sammy said that was the hotel — the place 
where folks stay, you know, when they ’re trav- 
eling and haven’t anywhere else to stay — no 


82 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


friends’ or relations’ houses to stop at. That ’s 
the depot over there, I think; that long, low 
building. Let ’s go there now.” 

“ That air one over yander ain’t so big as the 
other one, though, Mollie,” ventured Zack, more 
than half inclined to agree with the younger sis- 
ter. “ Mebbe Ama Jane ’s right. That air ’s a 
powerful big buildin’. Do n’t you ’low the keers 
would come in at the biggest place, Mollie? ” 

“ It does look bigger,” said Mollie, uncon- 
vinced, “ but the other one spreads out more, and 
then I seem to remember that we went down that 
way when we came with Sammy. Besides, I 
do n’t see anything that looks like railroad tracks 
only down there.” 

“ Sure enough,” agreed Zack, a little crest- 
fallen that the place where the wonderful cars 
came in was not the biggest building in town. 
“ Let ’s go there, then.” 

And so the evening, the early evening of south- 
ern Indiana, with its low sun, its quiet, and its 
warm, dreamy atmosphere through which sound 
carried with singular distinctness, found the little 
sisters of Sammy Goodman with their open- 
mouthed but stanch friend, Zack Posey, on the 
plank platform of the little station at Lagoot- 
tee, waiting for the first whistle of the wonderful, 
wonderful thing called a train. When it sounded, 
long and shrill, the warning signal found Zack 


SEEING THE WORLD 


83 


utterly unprepared for it, after all. A paleness 
crept into his round, brown face. Fear shot into 
his big, light eyes. 

“ Wha — what — was that? ” he gasped, and, 
before his question could be answered, knew, 
and blushed for his unsophistication, but forgot 
it the next moment when he caught sight of a 
seething column of black smoke rising above the 
tops of the trees straight into the still evening 
air, but leaving a long, horizontal track in its 
wake. Mollie was not to be denied her oppor- 
tunity, however. 

“ Why, that ’s it,” she said, importantly. 
“What did you think it was — a hant? You 
looked that scared, Zack! ” 

But Zack did not hear, for at that moment the 
train itself rounded the curve and came speeding 
down the straight track toward them. His chin 
dropped, his eyes widened, his arms hung loosely 
at his sides. This was Zachariah Posey’s first 
step into the wider world of which every youth 
dreams. In the wonder of it all, he did not re- 
member what he was standing there for, until a 
familiar hand was laid on his shoulder and a 
familiar voice cried, heartily: 

“ Hello, there, Zack! What are you dreaming 
about? 

“ Why, howdy; I purt’ nigh forgot you was 
cornin’, I got so interested in watchin’ the keers 


84 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


come in. That air ’s quite a machine, Sammy. 
I wish I could take a ride on it. I ’low it would 
be powerful inter estiri” 

“ Well, when you go to the war, you ’ll get 
your chance, I reckon — for of course you ’re 
going, Zack? ” 

“ You bet I be. I ’ve jist been a-waitin’ for 
you ter git home. You know Aleck Moses is or- 
ganizin’ a company an’ we kin jine right away.” 

“ Rut mam says Sammy can’t go until after 
corn-shuckin’ time,” objected Mollie, the care- 
taker, gazing at her tall brother with adoring blue 
eyes. They were a blue-eyed race, the Good- 
mans. 

“ Well, we ’ll decide that later,” laughed 
Sammy. “ Come, let us to the sign of the Buf- 
falo Head and stay our stomachs without further 
delay. I ’m hungry as a bear.” 

Mollie looked at him in quiet and approving 
surprise. 

This was a new Sammy, this tall, well-dressed, 
new-speaking, laughing brother, home from the 
great University of the great State of Indiana, 
once thought of and talked of as but a fabled 
dream. Sammy was not so very well-dressed. 
At least, he was not considered as a specially 
good dresser among the students in Bloomington; 
but he wore store clothes now which shone quite 
resplendent beside Zack’s homespun, and he had 


SEEING THE WORLD 


85 


an easy way in them which made him appear 
much better dressed than he really was. He was 
clad like a king in the eyes of Mollie and Ama 
Jane. 

“ That certainly is a right smart of a ma- 
chine,” said Zack, leaving the platform regret- 
fully, in tow of Sammy. He looked back over 
his shoulder several times as they walked down 
the shaded street to which the early dusk had 
come. “ It certainly is. I wonder how it feels 
ter ride in it. You Ve seen a lot o’ the world, 
hain’t you, Sammy? ” coming back to earth with 
a wistful smile on his face. 

But Sammy, lying wide awake that night be- 
side the slumbering Zack, in the quaint little 
hotel which had seemed so big to Zack and Ama 
Jane, thought, with his old sense of responsibility 
keen upon him, that he had seen very little and 
knew much less of the big world of which his year 
at the University had given him such a delicious 
and tantalizing glimpse. And now he must put 
aside all his dreams of it, all his hopes of it, to 
fight for it, that part of it which was native land. 
He was doing it with all a boy’s fierce patriotism, 
and yet, perhaps, he must lay down his life for 
it. At the University this last spring, his chief 
concern had been that he would not have an 
opportunity thus to lay down his life if necessity 
demanded — that if he failed to get to the front 


86 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


with the first companies, his chance for glory, for 
self-sacrifice, for a martyr’s death, would be lost 
him forever; for with others older and wiser and 
far more experienced in the ways of war than was 
he, he never doubted that one or two battles would 
settle the great controversy between North and 
South. He had been in a constant fever of 
anxiety to be off, for the worn old doors of the 
University to clang behind him, it might be for a 
brief summer, it might be forever. Anything, 
rather than that all should be over before ever he 
had had his chance. 

He was a member of the military company 
fathered by the University, and when war loomed 
inevitable and imminent on the college horizon, 
and a sudden quickening heart throb of realism 
was splashed into the dead placidity of hum- 
drum, meaningless drill — just drill for drill’s 
sake — his calm indifference had at once leapt 
into consuming ardor, and the once dull parade 
ground became strangely appealing, a place of 
absorbing interest, of a fever of effort at perfec- 
tion. He had not been the only one so affected, 
by any means. The University was situated in 
a very hot-bed of copperheadism , adherents to 
which cult were sympathizers of the South, 
though when the time came, often lacking the 
superb physical courage or the moral grandeur to 
fight for it, and these kept the atmosphere of both 


SEEING THE WORLD 


87 


town and college rife with feeling. Also, in the 
University, there were numbers of the real worth 
of that which afterward made up the personnel 
of the southern army, and these entered into the 
drill with the same fierce fervor which marked 
Sammy Goodman and many another boy of 
northern birth or northern sympathies and un- 
afraid. So intense did the feeling become before 
the spring term was over, and so bitterly were the 
merits of the great world question fought over, 
it was little wonder young blood was keyed to 
such a pitch that, when the first faint dawn of a 
morning in April disclosed the stars and bars of 
the first flag of the South as separate and distinct 
from the flag of the Republic floating over the 
University building, something snapped. 

There was little accomplished that day in the 
way of bookish lore. The time was given over 
almost entirely to hot charges and counter- 
charges, insult answering insult, finally fought 
out in many and many a personal encounter, fist 
to fist. It was never really known who the bold 
defiers of the neutrality of the University were, 
whether copperheads or actual students, but the 
boys of the South contested with fierce determi- 
nation the efforts of the boys of the North to 
scale the lofty roof and haul down the haughty, 
flaunting colors which flapped triumphantly in 
the snappy April breeze all the live-long day, 


88 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


while the professors — Heaven rest their har- 
rowed souls — did nothing. It was Sammy 
Goodman, who, just before sunset — Fort Sum- 
ter had just been fired upon and his blood was 
hot with resentment — lithe and sure-footed 
from his woods’ training, scaled the sloping and 
dangerous roof and stood, pale and panting, be- 
neath the rippling bars, as the rival reds in the 
western sky proclaimed the imminent setting of 
the sun. 

He looked an atom only of a man to his 
friends below, and their cheers came to him but 
faintly. But he did not need them now. He had 
needed them when the dangerous, difficult feat 
loomed lonely before him — Sammy always 
liked his world’s applause — but that was all 
behind him now, forgotten in accomplishment. 
He was panting with the physical effort it had 
taken, pale with the emotion of his high deter- 
mination to haul down those flaunting colors 
before the sun should set on the stain to his 
country’s honor. Sammy was young, and the 
drills and the discussions and the hot partisan- 
ship had stirred his patriotism strangely, so that 
he thought in such sounding phrases. How he 
had eluded the watchfulness of the southern 
sympathizers, who, crestfallen and chagrined, 
were grouped below in the press of almost the 
entire student body, including a sprinkling of 


SEEING THE WORLD 


89 


professorial dignity, might perhaps be laid to the 
litheness, the stealth, and the cunning which he 
had unconsciously imbibed from the wild woods 
creatures of his homespun boyhood. The word 
had gone forth among his friends to keep all eyes 
upon that despised flag at sunset. Hence, the 
crush of spectators, for the word had seeped into 
the enemy’s camp as well. As has been said, 
Sammy always liked to have the eyes of his world 
upon him. It will be remembered that, when a 
boy and called upon from the pulpit, he won- 
dered if Mary Ann Hamilton was not proud of 
his friendship. But he did not know that any 
one was looking when he cut the cord which had 
given the false flag to the breeze. He was as one 
inspired and he thought only of treason trampled 
upon, of honor triumphant. 

Tonight, as he turned on his hard, com-shuck 
tick in the primitive little hotel at the primitive 
little village of Lagoottee, all that University life 
seemed very, very far away, and he had his first 
prescience that perhaps the coming strife would 
not be so soon over as the world thought. His 
chance had waited for him despite his fevered 
fear and impatience, but somehow, tonight, it 
seemed to stretch before him into vague distances 
where no end was sighted. 


CHAPTER VII 


THE GHOST 


ND now for the news,” said Sammy, lean- 



n ing back in the roomy seat with a certain 
sense of rest and luxuriousness after the tension 
of the last few months at the University, where 
indulgence in prejudice and passion had been 
quite as mentally wearing as delving into the wis- 
dom of the sages. He was content to let Zack 
hold the lines; for the slow, clumsy, broad-backed, 
absolutely trustworthy, old work horses which 
had grown up in the Goodman stable were proved 
zest-killers in the manly art of driving. The 
start homeward had been an early one, and the 
June morning was fair and still. 

“ The’ ain’t no news ’ceptin’ what you know 
already, as I knows on. ’Dup, there! What 
does possess you to be so low-down ornery, ol’ 
Startle? Pap finally got that-air painter that ’s 
been hangin’ round so long.” 

“ Do n’t forget to tell Sammy about old man 
Carmichael,” put in Mollie, from the back seat, 
leaning forward the better to see and admire the 
new, worldly, grown-up, easily tolerant look on 
Sammy’s face. She couldn’t help liking that 


90 


THE GHOST 


91 


slightly amused, somewhat bored, altogether 
friendly, if condescending, manner he had as- 
sumed toward Zack since he had come back from 
the University — was it only last night — even 
though, in a way, it put her and Ama Jane and 
the busy mother and all their homely doings in 
the same class with Zack. 

“ I ain’t kakilatin’ ter forget,” said Zack, with 
dignity. Nor was he. In spite of his modest as- 
sertion that there was no news, to speak of, that 
which he had stored up to tell Sammy could not 
well be told in the twenty miles that lay before 
them. “O’ course you know he got religion at 
the revival last winter? ” 

“ So Mollie wrote me.” 

“ Everybody did, for that matter. Brother 
Craik said it was the greatest outpourin’ o’ the 
Holy Spirit it had ever been his good fortune ter 
witness. Folks was powerful mournful for a 
right smart spell, realizin’ the awful state o’ sin 
they was in at. We did n’t have no good times 
no more — an’ we was so contented like before. 
Someway, I — but Sammy, how about your own 
self; have you got religion? ” 

“ I hope so,” replied Sammy, smiling. 

“ Any more than you had before you went 
away? ” 

“ Why, I hope I get more every day that I 
live. Is n’t that the way it ought to be? ” 


92 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


“ Did you jine the church down there ter the 
University? ” 

“ No.” 

“ I ’low that ’s why you kin still laugh like 
you useter,” said Zack with a relieved relaxation 
of his perturbed countenance. I ’ll stump you 
ter not. I ’d purt’ nigh ruther be lost once an’ for 
all an’ be done with it than ter be wonderin’ every 
blessed minute if you ’re goin’ ter be, an’ weepin’ 
an’ wailin’ over the likelihood of it, would n’t 
you? I like ter be happy,” he added, naively. 

“ It ’s like war, I reckon,” said the other boy, 
dreamily. “ I wonder — do you suppose — I 
wonder if we shall have the fear of death with us 
all the time, Zack? That would be a thousand 
deaths in one, would n’t it? If I thought I should 
not get the best of that fear, I should want to be 
killed in our first battle.” 

“ You kin jist bet I would, too,” declared Zack, 
emphatically. “ Well, as I was a-sayin’, after a 
while, a many backslid, but not ol’ Carmichael. 
Folks was always a-lookin’ for him to, an’ we was 
all mighty surprised when he kep’ right on bein’ 
straight — never drank a drop nor swore a swear 
as anybody hearn tell on — an’ the women was n’t 
a-feared ter have him come ter their houses no 
more, he was so nice-spoken an’ said war was the 
greatest crime o’ the ages an’ forbid o’ God, an’ 
he kep’ tellin’ the boys never, never ter fight their 


THE GHOST 


93 


fellow-men — it was wicked an’ God would 
never forgive it nor forget it. So o’ course, he 
was very well liked o’ all the women folks all of 
a sudden — with all this war talk in the air.” 

“ And once when mam asked him if God had 
forgiven him the lives he put out in his old War 
of 1812,” piped up Ama Jane, excitedly, “he 
just up and cried, and said he was afraid not, but 
he was going to keep praying for forgiveness till 
they carried him to Shiloh graveyard; and then 
mam snapped up sharp that that would n’t bring 
those boys back to their mothers and homes, and 
it was a pity folks did n’t think of that beforehand 
and not be pluming themselves so much on their 
religion afterward. Ain’t mam been converted, 
Sammy? ” 

“ There are some people, Baby, who do n’t 
need conversion, I think, because their feet have 
never strayed. Your mother is one of them. And 
what did Carmichael say to that, Zack? ” 

“ Why, he cried some more an’ said anyway 
he ’d haft ter jist keep on a-prayin’, that was his 
only hope.” 

“ Good for old Carmichael,” said Sammy, 
good-naturedly, trying to make a mental picture 
of his good-hearted, profane, old friend on the 
anxious seat. Something must have been wrong 
with his execution, however, for the picture 
wouldn’t make. Always, he saw the twinkle 


94 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


behind the lugubrious countenance depicted by 
Zack’s graphic recital ; always, he heard compla- 
cent braggadocio and picturesque profanity 
through the sounds of penitent tears and fearful 
lamentation. Therefore, he was not surprised at 
Zack’s next words. 

“ An’ Mollie never wrote you ’bout his back- 
slidin’ ? I ’low she thought you ’d be ashamed of 
it — you always did stand up so for the ol’ whis- 
key barrel. Well, the church is shet o’ him at 
last, an’ I ’low they ’re right glad. We was over 
ter the settlement, pap an’ I, when the word was 
brought. He was haranguin’ a crowd o’ us fel- 
lers for talkin’ of enlistin’, an’ pintin’ out the 
errors of our ways, an’ he cried some, too. He 
was an ol’ man, an’ you must n’t hold that agin 
him. He stopped dead off when the word come, 
an’ the queerest look come over his face — kind 
o’ like that funny light jist before a thunder 
storm, you know. I was plumb skeert.’ r 

“ What word, Zack? What in the world are 
you talking about? ” cried Sammy, perplexed by 
the ambiguity of Zack’s narrative as well as by 
his unusual loquacity. 

“ Why, the firin’ on Fort Sumter, o’ course,” 
explained Zack, perplexed in his turn by 
Sammy’s most unusual obtuseness. “ Purty 
soon he begun. The first words was kind o’ 
mumblin’, like he did n’t sense jist where he was 


THE GHOST 


95 


at an’ was feelin’ round. Then one fairly bust 
from him like a — like a cannon ball an’ — ” 

“ One what? ” demanded Sammy, impatiently. 

“ One damn,” replied Zack, simply. “ An’ 
then they followed so thick an’ fast that I 
could n’t keep up. He jist ripped ’em out o’ his 
throat like as they was chokin’ him. How he did 
swear, Sammy! I declare, it makes me creepy 
even yit, thinkin’ ’bout’n it. I took time, how- 
somever, ter be thankful there was n’t no women 
folks around. Purty soon, when he had swored 
himself black in the face, he made a bee line for 
Dave’s place an’ he ’s been drunk ever since 
till — ” 

“ Oh, he reformed again, did he, the old repro- 
bate? ” 

“ No, he did n’t, Sammy.” 

“ Oh, he did n’t? What are Brother Craik and 
the other brothers and sisters doing about it 
then? ” 

“ Nothin’ now. They tried to, but he got ahead 
of ’em agin.” 

“ How?” 

“ He died night afore last.” 

Then it was that Sammy’s picture of the rough 
old fighter made itself and truly, without help 
from him, before his inner vision — the life of 
many a pioneer fireside, the teller of many a good 
tale, an exponent of patriotism, a friend of chil- 


96 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


dren, a kindly heart. There had been much that 
was sinful in his life, but it was the memory of 
those other things that lingered longest with 
Sammy and the other boys of the backwoods. 

Sammy’s mind was still dwelling upon the 
suddenness and sadness of his old friend’s death, 
when Zack continued his narration of events, too 
full of all the things he had to impart to allow 
Sammy the luxury of mournful contemplation. 
There were all the things which had happened 
since the Christmas holidays, and much happens 
in the out of the way places of the earth, even as 
in the crowded centers. Old men die, and babies 
are born, there is much of toil for all, and sorrow, 
happily balanced with much of content and joy. 
Nor is war a respecter of persons or localities. 
Its clouds are generated in all the dark places of 
human error, they draw together, and the mut- 
tering of their assembling is heard in the secluded 
by-ways as well as in the busy thoroughfares of 
the land. In what way, then, was Dubois County 
so different from Sammy’s great University, or 
the still greater places of the world ? 

“ That air hant over ter Hank Halstead’s has 
been gittin’ powerful lively since you left. Seems 
like he appears most every night now.” 

“ Mollie wrote me he had been cutting up high 
jinks lately. I suppose you superstitious ones 
still think he is — my father’s spirit?” 


THE GHOST 


97 


“ Superstitious nothin’ ! Course I do n’t know 
whether it ’s your pap or not, but it looks mighty 
like it ter me. There ’s been mighty strange 
things goin’ on over yander ter that ol’ house an’ 
on the creek bottom where your pap was mur- 
dered. You always did laugh at hants an’ sich, 
an’ I ’low you ’re a-laughin’ this very minute, but 
you need n’t, ’cause I seed this one with my own 
eyes.” 

“ Good! And what did it look like? Tell me 
quick ! I am consumed with curiosity.” 

“ It was a ghost light. It came an’ went an’ 
at last it floated right off through the air, taller ’n 
any man that was ever horn. I wish they ’d ketch 
Hank. I do n’t like hants. Mebbe if he was 
ketched, the spirit would rest quiet in its grave.” 

“ There is nothing in it, Zack,” said Sammy. 
“ I do n’t doubt that you saw a light and that 
there have been strange noises heard. You say 
so, therefore it is true. But, take my word for it, 
there is some other cause for those sights and 
sounds, some reason within the realms of possi- 
bility. I shall investigate when I get home.” 

“ Better leave it alone, Sammy.” 

“ One of the very first things I shall do will be 
to ferret out the meaning of all this mummery, 
and what is more, Zack, old boy, you will go with 
me when I do it.” 

“ Do n’t ever think it, Sammy Goodman! I ’ll 


98 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


never go with you, ner with nobody. I ’ll 
follow you in battle right up to the last an* git 
kilt if I haft ter. They ’d be jist men like us that 
would be killin’ us. But I can’t abide hants. I ’m 
a-f eared of ‘em. You do n’t know what they air 
or what they want. I ’ll never go over ter Hank’s 
after candle-lightin’ time as long as I live, an’ 
you need n’t count on it, nuther.” 

Sammy Goodman only smiled. 

The attainment of two objects, both of absorb- 
ing interest, engrossed Sammy’s attention now 
that at last he was home again and free from the 
exacting routine and the restraints of University 
life, so irritating when war was on the wing and 
one so longed to be up and preparing for the im- 
pact. The first one was his enlistment. He lost 
no time in looking up the best opportunity to 
enlist in the volunteer service. As Zack had 
said, Captain Aleck Moses was organizing a com- 
pany at J asper, but it would be some time before 
the organization would be completed and the 
company ready to march. Chafing at the idea of 
further delay, fearful of victory, a cessation of 
hostilities, and peace before ever he could get to 
the front, he decided to join a company in an 
adjoining county, which would soon be ready to 
leave for Indianapolis, the centralizing point. Its 
captain had been a schoolmate of Sammy’s, had 
belonged to the same military organization, and 


THE GHOST 


99 


had taken note that Sammy, already known as 
the backwoods scholar, was well up in the man- 
ual of arms. Because of this and because they 
were friends besides, he had Sammy elected first 
lieutenant. As a matter of course, Zack enlisted 
in the same company as a private, and was much, 
much prouder of Sammy’s commission than was 
that officer himself. 

That matter satisfactorily disposed of gave 
Sammy time to probe into the question of the 
ghost at the Hank Halstead place. He soon 
learned that it was the principal topic of conver- 
sation in the neighborhood. The house had stood 
empty since the day of the murder. Hank’s 
brother, father of the young Bob of bat-slugging 
fame, had worked the place every year, but the 
house itself had remained vacant. For some time, 
peculiar lights had been seen and uncanny sounds 
heard about the old place, around the house and 
in the adjoining woods. There were people who 
even claimed to have seen a white-robed figure 
waving a skeleton hand. All this was of special 
interest to Sammy because of the foolish ones and 
superstitious, who believed, and spread the belief, 
that the so-called “ hant ” was the ghost of Gerry 
Goodman, who could not rest quietly in his grave 
until his murderer had been brought to merited 
justice. 

When Sammy had made known his conviction 


100 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


that the man whom he and Zack had seen more 
than four years ago when they watched beside a 
tree’d coon was none other than Hank Halstead 
himself, diligent search had been made around the 
premises; but when no trace of the fugitive could 
be found, no sign of human presence or late occu- 
pancy of the house, when their efforts were only 
met with a profounder silence, a deeper mystery, 
then, more than ever, did the folk of the neigh- 
borhood harbor the belief that the place was 
haunted, and that the boys had really seen the 
ghost itself. In vain, Sammy, in the daytime, 
when his reason was in the ascendancy, raged 
against the imputation, and urged with feverish 
impatience more search and yet more. His expe- 
rience in the woods that night served only to 
strengthen the hold of the ghost in the minds of 
his neighbors. 

The longed-for time had now come when he 
was determined to lay to rest once and for all 
time the prevalent idea that his father’s spirit was 
wandering unhappily upon the earth, haunting 
the place where he had so foully met his death, 
seeking the rest that would not come until his 
murderer suffer the penalty of his crime. In 
addition to his desire effectually to put a stop to 
the gossip, Sammy firmly believed that Hank 
Halstead was at the bottom of all this new ghost 
business, and his hands fairly ached to have the 


THE GHOST 


101 


man in his clutches. He would solve the mystery 
before time to join his company if he had to brave 
the unknown terrors of the haunted house alone, 
and he would stay by them every night until they 
revealed themselves ; but he still counted on Zack, 
and, in the end, Zack was not proof against the 
compliment implied in the expectation, especially 
after Sammy had reiterated a solemn promise 
that he would take the initiative in everything, 
and always go ahead. 

“ As it would seem that our friend, the ghost, 
has chosen the mysterious hour of midnight for 
shoving his shopworn demonstrations upon a too 
credulous world,” said Sammy, “ we, also, will 
haunt that hour, Zachariah Posey; one night, I, 
and the next, you. Oh, I do n’t mean for a 
minute that you are to go there alone — do n’t 
look so obstinately appalled. What I do mean 
is this: Mother says that even she has seen and 
heard very strange things over there. Now, as 
we are the closest to Hank’s place, I propose that 
right here we set our watch. Tonight, I will sit 
by the attic window till well past midnight — to- 
morrow, you, and so on until there are develop- 
ments, or until we are ordered to Indianapolis. 
At the very first sign of activity on the part of 
his ghostship, we will both start out on a tour of 
investigation.” 

So it was agreed. Several nights thus passed 


102 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


away without any developments of a startling 
nature. Even Zack began to lose faith in ghosts, 
while the growing belief pressed home to Sammy, 
in his youthful egotism, that the masquerader 
was afraid because of the presence of his victim’s 
son, and had decided to postpone further demon- 
strations until Sammy’s marching orders came to 
make safe once more the parade of the “ hant’s ” 
unholy practices. 

And now marching orders had come, and the 
last night at home, and it was Zack’s watch. 
Sammy went to bed more disappointed than he 
could have imagined possible on the eve of at last 
actually going to the war. He fell asleep, how- 
ever, consoling himself with the reflection that 
Mollie would write if the ghost renewed activities 
after his departure, and, if he did, woe to him, for 
Sammy would obtain an early leave of absence 
and would slip home without the knowledge of 
anyone, and surprise the ghost at his tricks at the 
very moment when he deemed himself most im- 
mune from danger. 

All the household slept at last, worn out with 
thoughts of the desolation of the morrow, when 
two homespun boys would go marching away, 
blithely, never to come back again; for if they 
were spared the martyr’s death, saddened men 
would come sorrowfully home, leaving their 
buoyant youth on the bloody fields where so many 


THE GHOST 


103 


of their comrades must lay down their all. Zack 
alone was awake in all the quiet, solemn place, 
sitting in the unlighted attic, close to the tiny 
window, looking out upon the clear, star-lit, mid- 
night sky, and the dark, still, mysterious woods, 
listening to Sammy’s regular breathing, awe- 
struck with the deep silence of the serene night 
and the vague but poignant consciousness of the 
gravity of the morrow’s venture. Time dragged 
slowly away, and Zack’s eyes began to grow 
heavy with sleep. And then he saw it — the 
ghost light. He sat up straight and rubbed his 
eyes to make sure. He had been growing skep- 
tical of late, and he thought he might have dozed 
off and seen the glancing light in a dream. No, 
there it was, floating about in the timber across 
Crooked Creek. All his old blind fear and the 
shivering impulse to run and hide came over the 
simple lad with redoubled force. 

“ Sammy, Sammy,” he whispered, hoarsely, 
groping his way over to the bed, “ it ’s there, the 
hant! I seed it. Wake up, for God’s sake! ” 

“ Oh, so his ghostship is abroad at last, is he? ” 
cried Sammy, springing out of bed and running 
to the window. “ For heaven’s sake, Zack, what 
are you doing? ” 

“ It ’s the hant, I tell you! ” cried Zack, in a 
muffled, terror-stricken voice, burrowing farther 
into the depths of the feather tick. 


104 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


“ So I see,” said Sammy, in a stern, determined 
voice, inwardly bracing himself for the coming 
encounter with the supposedly supernatural. His 
face was pale as he began hastily to draw on his 
clothes, but it was more on account of the solemn 
thought that he was about to come face to face 
with his father’s murderer than from any fear of 
the occult, and, luckily, Zack could not see it in 
the dark of the attic chamber. “ Get out of bed 
this minute, Zachariah Posey! We haven’t a 
moment to lose ! ” 

“ But — Sammy,” came in wavering tones 
from the fluffy mass of feathers, “ I tell you it ’s 
the hant! Don’t you think human beings had 
orter let hant things alone? I ’m powerful ’fraid 
something ’ll happen so ’s we can’t go ter the war 
termorrer.” 

Bjit Sammy was adamant against even this 
appeal. 

“ Then it ’ll have to happen,” he said, decid- 
edly, “ for we are going to run down the ghost 
business this very night — war or no war. I 
reckon there ’ll be plenty other fellows glad 
to take our places. You promised, Zack.” 

“ An’ I was right smart of a idjit for doin’ it, 
too,” said Zack, plaintively, crawling slowly out 
of bed. “ Seein ’s you ’re so all-fired smart at 
rememberin’ promises, do n’t you go ter forgit- 
tin’ yours.” 


THE GHOST 


105 


“To go ahead? I sha’ n’t forget. Come on, 
Zack! ” 

“ You see,” said Sammy, in a low tone, as they 
struck into the creek path, “ I believe from the 
bottom of my soul that the ghost is Hank him- 
self, and that he is using this method to intimi- 
date people so that they will avoid his place, 
especially at night, and allow him to walk about 
without being seen.” 

“ I can’t see for the life o’ me what he ’d want 
ter hang around for when he can’t live there 
openly an’ in daylight,” said Zack, unbeliev- 
ingly. 

“ It ’s his home, you know, and nobody ever 
goes there any more, just on account of these 
ghost-shines. Who knows but that he may 
spend the greater part of his time right there at 
home? ” 

“Well, you kin believe what you’re a mind 
to,” responded Zack, “ but I believe it ’s a shore 
’nough hant an’ it ’pears ter me it ’s right smart 
presumptious on our part ter dast ter interfere 
with Ills wanderings. He knows his own busi- 
ness, I ’low.” 

All this time, the light danced ahead of them, 
moving deeper and deeper into the dark blur of 
the forest, and always toward Hank Halstead’s 
place. When the boys came into the clearing 
around the house, the light had disappeared. It 


106 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


was well past midnight and an eerie silence 
rested upon the deserted premises. There was 
an empty, desolate look about the cabin with its 
sagging door and rotting stoop, and the path 
was weed-choked. Zack shivered with premoni- 
tory dread, and even Sammy hesitated for a 
hardly perceptible moment, then he whispered, 
resolutely : 

“ I am going in, Zack. You must be ready 
for a scrap if it should prove to be Hank, for he 
will fight like the devil before he will be taken.” 

“ Law me, do n’t tell me you air really goin’ 
inter that house knowin’ there ’s a hant in there! ” 
cried Zack, his teeth chattering uncontrollably. 

“ I certainly am,” replied Sammy, pushing 
open the door as he spoke, and, at the same time, 
striking a match and lighting his lantern. 

They stepped inside, Sammy well in the lead, 
and were greeted by an empty room and a damp, 
musty smell that clings to disused houses, and 
they felt the clamminess of the heavy air, betok- 
ening a long absence of the sunshine. The dull 
glimmer of their lantern was too feeble to pene- 
trate to the farthest corners, and these remained 
in shadow. The boys stood motionless for some 
time. The only sound to be heard was Zack’s 
teeth which would occasionally chatter. 

Sammy had just concluded to advance and in- 
vestigate further, when a faint sound as of some 


THE GHOST 


107 


one stepping softly over the floor came from the 
adjoining room. The boys gazed intently at the 
closed door separating the two rooms, Sammy in 
grim determination, Zack in a paralysis of 
fright. Presently, there was a slight, creaking 
noise, and a streak of light appeared as if the 
door had been set ajar and there was a light in 
the room beyond. Suddenly, it went out, the 
door opened wide, and there glided into the 
shadowy apartment a most uncanny, ghostly 
figure, draped all in white, and from whose eyes 
and nose and mouth glowed steady points of 
unearthly fire. It stood motionless for a few 
moments and then slowly stretched forth a hand 
on which there was no flesh whatsoever — a 
skeleton hand — and pointed it solemnly at the 
terrified young men. Zack gave one gasp for 
breath and bolted for the door. Sammy had 
need now of all his skepticism. In spite of him- 
self, a great dread of the supernatural crept 
over him. The weird hour, the eerie silence, the 
unfriendly dark, the awful shine of the bluish 
light now shooting forth from eyes, mouth, and 
nostrils, combined to render him so weak with 
fear that he stood rooted to the spot, without 
motion and without speech. With a supreme 
effort, however, he rallied his reason to the 
rescue, drew from its holster the large revolver 
which he had recently purchased to take to the 


108 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


army with him, and, pointing it squarely at the 
seeming visitor from another world, cried out 
with a right gallant courage: 

“ Throw off those ghost trappings and tell me 
who you are, or I’ll shoot you where you stand! ” 

The apparition seemed to waver a moment as 
if undecided whether to float off into space or 
to fade away into nothingness on the spot. Its 
garments exuded a damp, unpleasant odor as of 
mildew, suggestive of graveyards, and clung 
closely to the attenuated figure. And then, 
suddenly, there was only space where the ghost 
had stood. Only the same damp, empty room 
with its shadowy corners and the dim light from 
the lantern flickering upon the walls greeted 
Sammy’s astonished eyes. Was he dreaming? 
Had he been walking in his sleep, and had 
dreamed that meeting with the ghost, and had 
but just now awakened? 

The outer door of the old building had 
been left open, the night breeze had risen, and 
now, floating in, caused the dull flame of the 
lantern to dance fantastically. For a moment, 
Sammy was seized with an almost uncontrollable 
impulse to follow Zack, but memory came to him 
swiftly of a flutter of garments followed by the 
sound of a softly closing door. Quick as the 
retreat had been, this was evidence enough that 
the ghost had not vanished into the air or through 



A most uncanny, ghostly figure, draped all in white 





























































. 



» 





































































THE GHOST 


109 


the thick walls as is the way of spirits. He 
sprang to the door, only to find that it had been 
bolted on the other side. With a few vigorous 
kicks, he broke in the door. Snatching up the 
lantern, he pushed his way through. This second 
room was empty also. It had no other outlet 
except the shattered door through which he had 
just come. 

There was no outside door to be seen, no sign 
of a trap door on floor or ceiling. There was 
one small window, to be sure, but it was nailed 
down from the inside. The room was unfur- 
nished as the first one had been and cobwebs 
clustered thickly about and hung in long, dusty 
threads from the rough ceiling. Sammy swung 
his lantern into every dim corner and over all 
the bare, roughly plastered, log walls with their 
marred and discolored but rather pretentious 
wainscoting in search of a possible exit, made 
the same careful survey outside the cabin hoping 
to discover hint here of a secret opening which 
had been more cleverly concealed within. All 
to no avail. And then his hair began slowly to 
rise and an icy chill struck to his heart. In 
sheer, baffled bewilderment, he hastened from the 
haunted house with its mystery still unsolved, 
leaving it in the keeping of the night and the 
silence, with the wind sighing in the treetops, and 
the wan stars of that ghostly hour before the 


110 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


dawn seeming to mock human presumption and 
human impotency in the face of the unknown. 

At the creek, Zack peered cautiously forth 
from the protection of a giant oak. 

“ That you, Sammy? ” he whispered. 

“No doubt about it, Zack. It is I, and in the 
flesh, too, strange as that may seem.” 

Once more in the attic bedroom, Zack found 
voice to say in a tone of terrified triumph: 

“ What do you think about hants now? ” 

“Just what I have always thought,” replied 
Sammy, rather shortly. “ The ghost was a man, 
of course. What knocks me all out is the fact 
that it was n’t Hank after all. He was too short 
and too thin. Who was it, Zachariah Posey?” 


CHAPTER VIII 

THE BROKEN-DISH QUILT 

B UT, Zack,” exclaimed Sammy, in a dis- 
mayed undertone, because mother and sis- 
ters of both were hovering very near, and it 
would never do to hurt feelings already strained 
almost to the breaking point, where smiles were 
sadder than tears, and the little pauses in the 
voice more heart-broken than a storm of sobs, 
“ I am sure you won’t need those boots. You 
have already stowed away one extra pair, and 
they ’ll get most mighty dadsizzling heavy and 
bunglesome on the march through rain and mud. 
You know we can’t expect fair weather all the 
time. The Government will furnish you with 
army boots as you need them. Better leave 
these behind — that ’s my advice. As I ’ve told 
you a hundred times, the less we have to encum- 
ber ourselves with, the better off we shall be.” 

“ Can’t,” said Zack, doggedly, mopping his 
round, heated face with a much soiled red hand- 
kerchief, and sitting down despondently upon 
the heterogenous heap of clothing, bedding, 
cooking utensils and other household goods, piled 
up in such extravagant profusion as the poor, 
m 


112 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


unsophisticated lad had never known in all his 
life before. The shiftless Poseys had done what 
they could to swell the heap, and Mrs. Goodman 
and other neighbors had done the rest. “ Pap 
sold his new gun ter git ’em — these here an’ 
some other things that I do n’t need no more ’n 
a rabbit. Land only knows what they ’ll do for 
game now, ’specially ’gin winter comes, if we 
ain’t back yit. Pap ’s ol’ gun would n’t hit a 
cow six feet away. I declare ter goodness I 
wisht he hadn’t a-done it. But I jist haft ter 
take ’em, Sammy. The folks was right smart 
hurted ’bout’n the feather tick an’ the rocking 
cheer an’ the cook stove. Mam said the stove 
was so little it could be right easy toted ’round, 
an’ she cried ’bout’n the tick. She ’lowed I ’d 
take a passel o’ cold every night sleepin’ out right 
on the ground thataway. An’ I purt’ nigh had 
ter give in ’bout’n the cheer. I could n’t a held 
out agin her only I knew how you ’d laugh. Mam 
said it would rest me so ter rock after fightin’ 
all day.” 

“ I thought I had mother where she under- 
stood that we simply can’t take everything,” said 
Sammy, shaking his head dubiously over the 
motley array on the ground, “ but I see she has 
smuggled in some of my favorite books in spite 
of me — all wrapped up in new shirts. How- 
ever, she is n’t a patchin’ to the neighbors. Mrs. 


THE BROKEN-DISH QUILT 113 

Hobbs has been in and out all morning with pies 
and cookies and salt-risin’ bread and chair tidies. 
She says she knows the Government won’t give 
us anything fit to eat. I declare if there is n’t 
Aunt Salina Haskins! The old lady’s a brick. 
She has never held it against me — the trounc- 
ing I gave her blessed grandson, Bob Halstead. 
I wonder what in creation she ’s brought? We ’ll 
simply have to tell her, Zack, that we can’t stow 
away another thing.” 

A little, wiry, old lady with pretty, wavy gray 
hair and quick, nervous movements, came bus- 
tling around the corner of the house, knitting 
away energetically, so accustomed to the task 
that she seldom turned her bright eyes with their 
steel-bowed spectacles toward it. She was aunt 
by courtesy to all the neighborhood, mother and 
grandmother to a numerous progeny, and home- 
less except for a corner by the fireplace in the 
humble homes of any and all of her sons and 
daughters. She went “ a-visitin’ ” by the day, 
and was as welcome as the flowers in May. To 
be sure, she talked incessantly, but that was more 
often an advantage to her hostesses than other- 
wise. Such an inveterate visitor as she was of 
necessity gathered much gossip, the inevitable 
dispensing of which was as good as a modern 
rural free delivery, and served the double pur- 
pose of keeping the busy housewives conversant 


114 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


with the news, of the day without their taking the 
time or the trouble for the perusal of the written 
word. They worked while Aunt Salina talked. 
On visiting days, she rode when a horse could be 
spared, and walked when it could not. This was 
a walking day as was clearly evinced by the damp 
curliness of the hair around her forehead, the 
flush of exertion on her lined, humorous face, 
and the mantle of fine yellow dust on her shoes 
and in the folds of her dark linsey woolsey gown 
and neat white apron. 

“ Mis’ Goodman said you boys was out here 
in the back finishin’ up your packin’, ” she said, 
knitting assiduously. “ Tarnation hot, ain’t 
it? ” She tossed a brown sunbonnet under a 
shady locust tree. “ Right glad to be shet o’ 
that hot ol’ thing I be, I kin tell you. Had to 
walk over — critters was all in the fiel’ — all 
right, too, I ’low, seein ’s it give me a chanct to 
keep to work on these here socks. I ’m almost 
through now. I ’ve turned the last heel. I never 
could knit and drive at the same time. Them 
pesky critters o’ Jake’s and Serepty’s air so 
powerful contrary they shy at a grasshopper, 
and I simply got to finish these here socks, 
Sammy. They ’re your’n. I got Zack’s all done. 
They ’re here in my pocket. Susie stuck a posey 
in ’em. It does beat all how silly girls gits over 
sogers and uniforms. Here ’s Susie not turned 


THE BROKEN-DISH QUILT 115 


seventeen yit draggin’ round the house pale and 
no ’count and snifflin’ in corners jist cause Zack 
here ’s goin’ to the war, when land knows she 
would n’t look at him before, and that ’s no dis- 
par ’gemunt to you, either, Zack. Susie ’s jist 
plumb foolish, if I do say so who shouldn’t, 
seein ’s how she ’s my own granddaughter, and 
I dunno as I blame her much. Sogers air sogers 
and they ain’t to be picked up every day, and 
they do git kilt sometimes, that ’s a fact. 

“ J ake and Bob ain’t kakilatin’ none on goin’, 
the Halsteads never were strong on niggers, so 
Susie feels that romantic over having ketched a 
soger sweetheart that she ’s fair livin’ in the clouds 
these days. I ’low you boys ’ll wear out a right 
smart o’ socks, and as I ain’t a -lookin’ for the 
Government to enter into no contract to keep ’em 
darned, I ’lowed you could n’t have too many. 
I wanted to give you something, it ’ll be such a 
comfort to a body to remember if you never come 
back. I ’ve been knittin’ stiddy ever sense I 
hearn tell you had jined that-air company that 
was goin’ so soon. Mis’ Goodman said you was 
’bout ready to start. Why, I want to know, if 
there ain’t Mollie right this minute a-hitchin’ up 
— good land o’ live, and me not done yit! I ’ll 
set right down here in the shade and finish — 
’t won’t take long — and I hain’t ary a thing to 
take me home. You won’t mind waitin’ will you, 


116 THE H00S1ER VOLUNTEER 


Sammy? I ’low the Government ’ll keep you 
long enough from your ma once they git their 
hands on you, without your hurryin’ away from 
her now. 

“ Oh, yes, I purt’ nigh forgot to tell you, I 
pieced you a quilt. I packed it over myself to give 
to your ma to put with your other things. It ’s 
the Broken-dish pattern, kind o’ ’propriate to the 
occasion, you know, broken hearts and homes 
and everything. It ’s for both o’ you. I did n’t 
have time to piece two, and o’ course you ’ll sleep 
together all the time — goin’ from the same place 
like you air and always was thicker ’n peas in 
a pod anyway — so one ’s a plenty for you both, 
and do n’t quarrel over it whatever you do. I 
made it impartial — as much Zack’s as Sammy ’s, 
as much Sammy’s as Zack’s.” 

“ Why, Aunt Salina, it was awfully good of 
you to remember us so handsomely and to carry 
the things over yourself through the hot sun.” 
began Sammy, thinking ruefully of all the quilts 
and comfortables and blankets and countless 
other things which would in all probability get 
no farther than Indianapolis, if, indeed, they got 
so far as that. But he was touched by the atten- 
tion, and found it impossible to hurt the kindly 
old lady’s feelings by a refusal of the gifts so 
laboriously contrived from her meager resources. 

“ But we air plumb full to runnin’ over now. 


THE BROKEN-DISH QUILT 117 


Aunt Salina,” put in Zack, mindful of Sammy’s 
admonition, and resolved to throw himself into 
the breach in order to square himself on sundry 
other counts in which he had weakly allowed 
himself to be won over by his tearful and insistent 
womenfolks against Sammy’s freely given ad- 
vice and his own better judgment. 

“ So we are,” cut in Sammy, hastily, turning 
away from Zack’s astonished stare, “but we 
certainly will find room for Aunt Salina’s pres- 
ents — especially considering how useful they 
will be. We ’ll leave out something else if we 
have to — we have n’t room for gimcracks, that ’s 
a fact — but quilts and socks — why, we ’ll need 
’em every day. Aunt Salina, and we’ll bless you 
every time we crawl under that Broken Dish or 
pull the socks over our tired feet.” 

“ I hope you will,” said Aunt Salina, com- 
placently, beginning to narrow for the toe. 
“ That ’s the kind o’ presents I like to give — 
useful ones. I know you boys won’t git no more 
home comforts in a hurry, and I ’ll like to think 
o’ you, mebbe cold and wet and wored out with 
the battle, creepin’ into your tent some rainy 
night and bein’ warmed and comforted by these 
pore little things your oP Aunt Salina made for 
you. They’re not much, I know, but if they 
warm you jist once when you ’re cold, I ’m more 
than paid.” 


118 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


For the first time that day — the great day — 
the day when he was going to the war — tears 
smarted in Sammy’s eyes, why, he could not 
have told. But in the after time, through the 
smoke of battle, by the faint glow of a dying 
camp fire, on weary marches, in countless home- 
sick longings, this picture came to him many 
times: the little dusty old woman talking and 
rocking and knitting under the shade of the old 
locust tree; his mother going in and out of the 
cabin door, continually thinking of some last 
thing to be packed for the comfort or convenience 
of the soldier boys; Zack’s father and mother 
wandering aimlessly about helplessly allowing 
the direction of aff airs to the stronger head ; the 
tow-headed, dirty-faced, half -clad little brothers 
and sisters of Zack racing noisily and unchecked 
all around the premises; Ama Jane sitting on 
the back stoop in everybody’s way, busily con- 
ning her lesson in which she had received careful 
instruction from brother Sammy earlier in the 
morning — Samuel Edward Goodman, First 
Lieutenant, Company E, Eighteenth Indiana 
Regiment — Samuel Edward Goodman, First 
Lieutenant, Company E, Eighteenth Indiana 
Regiment; Mollie, the care-taker, in the ample 
carry-all driving up the big work horses; Mrs. 
Hobbs, their nearest neighbor, skurrying down 
the dusty road on some last suddenly remem- 


THE BROKEN-DISH QUILT 110 


bered errand — more chair tidies, maybe; the 
distant, restful green of the majestic beeches and 
sycamores and oaks which marked the garden 
spot of Shiloh Cemetery — the God’s Acre where 
his father lay sleeping — and the nearer, darker, 
more sinister shade of the place where a ghost 
walked by night ; and over all — with Zack and 
himself the center of it all — the soft, warm, 
drowsy sunshine, the blue, white-capped sum- 
mer sky, with droning bees and gay butterflies 
flitting from luxuriant trumpet- vine to fragrant 
honeysuckle, and from thence to a sweet wild 
timber rosebush, and so the rounds again. And 
this was home — and peace. 


CHAPTER IX 


THE ARMY OF THE SOUTHWEST 

I T WAS the fore part of February, 1862, and 
the Army of the Southwest had reached the 
Osage River on its third expedition against 
Price, who was still maintaining the fiction that 
he was commanding state troops only, to “ repel 
invasion,” although it was very well known in 
Missouri that, not only was he a Secessionist at 
heart, as was the man who put him in power, 
Governor “ Claib ” Jackson, but that his whole 
ambition was bent upon bringing into the Con- 
federate service a full division of Missouri troops, 
the price of the Major-Generalship in the Con- 
federate army, promised him by J efFerson Davis, 
though not with the best grace in the world, and 
for which his soul hungered. Twice before had 
the eager soldiers marched the many weary miles 
from the Union bases at Sedalia and Rolla to 
Springfield. The marching back and forth had 
been over a rough country and in inclement 
weather. Each time the forward movement was 
made, the men felt that they were about to strike 
a decisive blow for their country, and, for that 
reason, there was little or no complaint at the 
120 


ARMY OF THE SOUTHWEST 121 


awful hardships they were compelled constantly 
to endure. 

Twice, without understanding the why or the 
wherefore, ordered back to the railroad at the 
very moment when their young volunteer hearts 
were beating high with hope of battle, they yet 
entered into this third movement against the 
elusive Price with almost the same ardent enthu- 
siasm and glowing confidence in their power to 
put down the rebellion, for which purpose they 
had enlisted, as soon as ever the opportunity to 
fight was given them, as had characterized their 
attitude toward the first expedition. Most of 
these young men were northern born and chafed 
under the mere thought of being unduly delayed 
or defeated in their fierce desire for immediate 
action by the condition of the winter roads, which 
were, in truth, the worst Missouri, a state of bad 
roads at best, had seen for many years. 

Winter time had always been work time in 
their northern homes and they were impatient of 
the enforced idleness and of the “ shiftless ” 
southern way of waiting for fairer weather and 
better highways. What was mud, even worlds 
of it, menacing wagon trains, and coldly and 
stickily vengeful toward infantry and cavalry as 
well as artillery for this insolent invasion of its 
habitual winter solitude; or what were storms of 
rain and sleet and snow that they should so mis- 


122 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


takenly think to halt the progress of the great 
Army of the Southwest, hastening to crush the 
enemies of the Government and to close the war 
so that it might he at home in time for the spring 
plowing? Turbulent, icy, bank-full streams were 
forded with unremitting zeal, wagons pried out 
of quagmires or hauled up steep hills with com- 
placent good-humor — because the hour was 
come! 

General Curtis, recently assigned by General 
Halleck, the new Commander of the Department 
of the West, to the command of the Army of 
the Southwest, was even then at Lebanon, his 
first base, waiting for his main army to come up 
— and it was coming! For, “ Dadsizzle the 
roads! ” said Sammy Goodman, under his breath, 
and regardless of the irremediable stains to his 
uniform because of the gladness within him, 
“ Hold back the old Eighteenth? I guess not! ” 
And, “ Darn the mud! ” cried Zachariah Posey, 
aloud, hauling a boot out of the depths of it, vig- 
orously, so not to lose his place in the march, “ If 
ye think ter stop the ol’ Eighteenth Injiana with 
sich low-down, ornery tricks as that air, I ’low 
you ’re barkin’ up the wrong tree.” And of like 
fibre was the sentiment of all those gallant vol- 
unteers hastening to join Curtis for his campaign 
against Sterling Price. 

The morning after going into camp, Sammy 


ARMY OF THE SOUTHWEST 123 


found Zack in his tent laboriously engaged in 
writing a letter. The sheet of paper was spread 
before him on a hard-tack box, and he was sprawl- 
ing over the whole, his face, from which perspi- 
ration dripped profusely, though the February 
wind was keen, very close indeed to the waver- 
ing script. Zaek’s education had not progressed 
far since that long ago day when he had dared 
to choose little Mary Ann Hamilton to support 
him in the spelling match rather than that youth- 
ful, intellectual giant, Sammy Goodman. There 
was no doubt that writing a letter, although it 
might be a labor of love, was, nevertheless, for 
Zachariah Posey, a labor. At the top of the 
sheet was pictured a huge red cannon belching 
forth volumes of crimson smoke. 

“ It fairly booms/’ said Sammy, stepping up 
to the box at which Zack was sitting. “ Whom 
on earth are you writing to on that noisy paper, 
Zack? You must be trying to make your cor- 
respondent think we are in the thick of bloody 
warfare so that he — or she — will thrill for you. 
Such make-believe is rank deception, Zackie, my 
boy, in other words, it ’s plain lying and I ought 
not to countenance it. Ugh! Cannon! We 
haven’t so much as heard the faintest echo of 
anything resembling the noise of firearms, even 
so much as a pop gun or a Fourth of July tor- 
pedo, since the skirmish at Black Water. If this 


124 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


is war, give me peace every time. I might at 
least get some excitement out of fighting the 
ghost.” 

“ Writin’ ter Susie Halstead, who d ’ you sup- 
pose? You ain’t got no call ter call this here 
paper loud. It ’s the purtiest I ’ve seed sense I 
jined the army. Soon ’s I seed it at the sutler’s, 
I got some, you bet.” 

“ Well, I hope Susie will like it.” 

“ An’ why should n’t she like it? ” cried Zack, 
in some exasperation at Sammy’s plainly im- 
plied criticism of his taste. “ All of six girls was 
mighty perticular ter ast me ter write ter ’em 
when I got ter the front, an’ I ain’t writ ter ary 
one ’ceptin’ jist Susie. I ’low that ’ll please her 
some? It ought ter, anyway,” he concluded, 
blushing bashfully, but valiant in his defence. 

“Talk about conceit! But I am wondering 
how Susie is to know how you were besought of 
all those fair ones and how you were strong 
enough to resist their blandishments,” said 
Sammy, laughingly, remembering yet other fair 
ones who had besought another soldier boy, but 
whom he refrained from mentioning. 

“ Oh, girls always talk those things over among 
themselves,” replied Zack, with his newly ac- 
quired air of a man of the world. “ She knew 
they ast me ter write ter ’em ’cause they told her, 
an’ she knows I ain’t a-writin’ ’cause I told her 


ARMY OF THE SOUTHWEST 125 

— so there you be. You ’d orter have a girl ter 
write ter stiddy, Sammy. I ’low I do n’t know 
what I ? d do if I did n’t have Susie ter write ter 
an’ ter git letters from when the homesick spells 
come on. Mebbe, though, you ’ve got somebody 
yander ter the University that you hain’t told 
me ’bout’n yit? ” 

“ Nary a one. Those Bloomington girls 
would n’t look twice at a backwoodsman, even if 
I had seen one I hankered after. To tell the 
truth, I did see several whom I should not have 
minded writing to in the least if I ’d been asked, 
but — ” 

“ Too bad you did n’t have your uniform on 
down there,” interrupted Zack, sympathetically, 
looking over Sammy’s erect, blue-clad, clean-cut 
figure admiringly. “ That shore would a fixed 
’em.” 

“ It is too bad, but I have one advantage over 
you, Zack. I am free to fall in love with some of 
these pretty southern girls.” 

“ You ’re welcome ter ’em. I ain’t seed ary 
one yit that could hold a taller candle ter Susie.” 

“ Good for you, Zack,” said Sammy, slapping 
his friend heartily on the shoulder in commenda- 
tion of his loyalty. “ But that is n’t what I came 
to talk about. Seeing you always sets a fellow 
to thinking about home — and makes him wish 
we might both sleep under Aunt Salina’s Broken 


126 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


Dish quilt, and that sets him to remembering 
how long it has been since we marched away and 
yet here we are childishly playing ‘ Kitty wants 
a corner ’ with Price. I have been detailed to 
pick out fifty men from the company to go on a 
foraging expedition. Would you like to be one 
of them? ” 

“ You kin jist bet I would! I ’m dead tired 
o’ doin’ nothin’, an’ more ’n dead tired o’ beans 
an’ hard-tack. I ’low I ’d feel right peart if I 
should jist happen like, on the side, ter see a 
chicken runnin’ round ’thout no visible owner. 
Wisht I had some o’ mam’s dumplings right this 
minute.” 

“ Ah, but it is strictly against orders to steal 
anything. We are simply to take the wagons, 
get some corn, pay for it in the coin of the realm, 
and return like good little boys.” 

“Who said anything about stealin’? You 
shorely do n’t think I ’d steal, do you, Sammy? ” 

“ To be real candid with you, I think you 
would, under some circumstances; but you will 
have to refrain this time because it is against 
orders and I shall be there to see that they are 
enforced.” 

With Sammy’s orders, had come the informa- 
tion that about five miles north of camp there 
was an extensive cornfield from which the grain 
had not yet been gathered, probably for the rea- 


ARMY OF THE SOUTHWEST 127 

son that the landowner had been unable, on 
account of the troublous times, to employ the 
necessary help to harvest it. 

It was about ten o’clock of that raw morning 
in February when, with his detail, he arrived at 
the appointed place. A general view of the 
premises gave him the impression that the owner 
or owners thereof had at one time at least been 
highly prosperous, and promised well for the 
probable extent and richness of the coveted corn- 
field ; but a vague, indefinable air of neglect rest- 
ing upon the spacious farmhouse and upon the 
big bams made him fear desertion, and boded 
ill for his praiseworthy determination to pay well 
for what he must carry away if anyone could be 
found within a radius of possibility upon whom 
the money might be legitimately forced. He 
stationed pickets at different points and then 
ordered the wagons into the cornfield. 

When the work of loading the wagons was well 
begun, he started for the house. There were no 
signs of life anywhere about. The barns were 
empty, and the heavy doors padlocked. The 
house blinds were drawn close. As he ap- 
proached, because war and its results were new 
to him, and he was young and untried so that he 
found all things touching upon the wide-reach- 
ing influence of war interesting, he could not help 
speculating as to the fortunes, past, present and 


128 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


future, of the former day, but now departed, 
dwellers within the substantial Missouri farm- 
house. Were they Southern sympathizers? Were 
the men of the family with Sterling Price or 
were they with Curtis or were they perhaps with 
Quantrill ? If they were in the army at all, that 
fact would account for the air of neglect, and it 
was possible that some of the women-folks might 
be still at home. Or had they all fled the place, 
panic-stricken at the recent occupation of the 
Osage country by the armies of Price, or by the 
later approach of the Union forces? 

Perhaps they had been plundered and forced to 
flee from Guerrillas, the meeting with a band 
of whom only the day before had been one of 
the few variations of the monotonous and seem- 
ingly endless march, march, march, and counter- 
march, through rain and snow and sleet, over 
sunken corduroy road and through mud that 
mired the guns countless times, of that long 
dreary winter. That Guerrillas were even now 
infesting the neighborhood had been reported to 
the young lieutenant, and he had reason to 
believe, besides, that a considerable body of 
Confederate troops was not far distant. The 
knowledge lent a thrill of pleasurable excite- 
ment to the little expedition. It was not alto- 
gether without hazard. 

Despite the apparent desertion, Sammy 


ARMY OF THE SOUTHWEST 129 


walked boldly to the front door and knocked 
loudly. There was no response from within, but 
a black cat, gaunt with hunger, scurried from 
under the porch and darted away, wild-eyed, 
afraid. Evidently, the family had been some 
time gone, or the cat would not have been in such 
a starved condition or so terror-stricken at human 
approach. On the mere chance of arousing some- 
body, however, and desirous of doing his full 
duty so that he might go away with his heaping 
wagons, consoled by the consciousness that he 
had done his best to square up for value received, 
he knocked again. Still no response. He 
knocked again and again, and then with a half 
smile at his persistence, he went around to the 
back door. Stepping upon the worn stone stoop, 
he was about to raise his hand when he paused 
a moment in surprise. Surely someone or some- 
thing was moving within. He regretted now his 
too noisy and insistent rapping at the front door. 
It was very probable that there were only women- 
folk about and they had very naturally been 
alarmed at his boldness, cognizant as they must 
be of the near presence of marauding Guerrillas. 
That he had been heard, he could not doubt. He 
knocked gently this time. The subdued, rustling 
sound ceased immediately. He knocked again, 
more loudly. Within, all was quiet as the grave; 
without, there were only the moaning of the chill 


130 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


wind in the leafless trees and the distant creak- 
ing of the wagons in the cornfield. He called 
aloud: 

“ I am from General Curtis’s army — Lieu- 
tenant Goodman of General Jeff C. Davis’s Di- 
vision — I want to pay for the corn we are tak- 
ing away! ” 

He thought thus to reassure any within should 
there be women or children, but he received no 
answer for his pains. Clearly there was some- 
thing about this house that would bear careful 
investigation. He could not have been mis- 
taken about that movement inside. It had 
sounded like some one stepping hastily and 
lightly across the floor. What should he do ? He 
was in the enemy’s country. He did not believe 
that he could conscientiously turn away leaving 
the mystery unsolved. The house might be a 
hot bed of rebel intrigue, and his arrival untimely 
on account of the presence of some spy whose 
identity must not be known, and the people of 
the house were taking the precaution to conceal 
all evidence before his expected entrance. It was 
strange that , if this were a loyal household, 
Price, whose armies had ruthlessly raided every 
known Union or neutral farm during his occupa- 
tion of the land, should have left it inviolate. 
However that might be, it was his absolute duty 
to pay for the corn if it could possibly be done. 


ARMY OF THE SOUTHWEST 131 


He turned the knob but the door was locked as 
he had thought it would be. He looked at the 
panels speculatively. They were not very heavy 
though made of oak. He thought he might be 
able to push them in without much trouble, or 
the latch might give way. It did not appear 
very strong. Despite his slender suppleness, 
Sammy had all the strength of his clean blood 
and his woods’ training. 

“Well, here goes,” he said, aloud. “If my 
methods are highwayman-like, I consider them 
justifiable, under the circumstances.” 

He put his shoulders to the task, thinking as 
he did so of another house he had broken into not 
so long ago, and smiling a little at the strange- 
ness of his lot — that he should be thus once 
again and ruthlessly breaking in the doors of 
a private dwelling — he, with whom respect 
for property rights was almost an obsession. 
After a few vigorous pushes, the door gave way, 
and he stepped immediately into an orderly, well- 
equipped kitchen. There was nobody there, but 
neither was there dust nor cobwebs nor the chill 
of desertion. A wood fire smoldered upon the 
hearth but there seemed to be no preparations on 
hand for dinner. The table was spotlessly clean 
and bare of anything suggestive of approach- 
ing meal time — and Sammy was hungry. His 
early breakfast of coffee, hardtack, and thin 


132 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


strips of broiled bacon had been wholly insuffi- 
cient for the boy brought up on fried chicken and 
soda biscuits, smoking hot from the oven. 

He did not linger in the empty room, however, 
but passed quickly through all the rooms on the 
ground floor. They were big, square apartments 
as was the southern custom of that day, and a 
very wise one, too, and immaculately neat, indic- 
ative of recent occupation. The furniture was 
good, although worn with age and usage. After 
satisfying himself that there was no human pres- 
ence in any one of these rooms, he climbed the 
uncarpeted stairs, his soldier’s tread sounding 
hollowly through the house. As he reached the 
landing, he thought he heard light footsteps 
going on before, but the corridor was empty. En- 
tering one of the front bed-chambers, he heard, 
or fancied he heard, the faint click of a key 
turned in a lock. 

At the sound, he hastened to a door on the 
opposite side of the room, only to find it locked. 
The chase was becoming exciting. He kicked 
the door open and found himself in another bed- 
room. There was no one there. He sprang to 
a door standing ajar and discovered that it 
opened upon a narrow stairway and, with one 
foot already upon the top step, heard a door 
close softly at the bottom. Fairly leaping down 
the steps Sammy threw open the door and 


ARMY OF THE SOUTHWEST 133 


reentered the deserted kitchen. Altogether, it 
was a ghostly adventure. In spite of himself, 
a creepy sensation took possession of him, and he 
began to wonder if the whole world were haunted. 
He hesitated a moment, more than half inclined 
to call in Zack, or, remembering Zack’s innate 
aversion to “ hants,” some other one of his men, 
and make a thorough and systematic search of 
the entire premises, when he heard, more dis- 
tinctly than before, the sound of light footsteps, 
this time on the front stairway. The situa- 
tion did not admit of the delay of calling for 
assistance. 

Rushing to the hall and springing up the 
stairs he now could clearly hear some one run- 
ning on ahead, leading over the same course 
he had pursued before. Again reaching the bot- 
tom of the stairs leading into the kitchen, he 
found the door open and was just in time to see 
a trap door in the floor, hitherto unnoticed, drop 
back into place. He pulled it open by means 
of its iron ring, disclosing rickety, worm-eaten, 
wooden stairs leading into a cellar. His curiosity 
was by this time thoroughly aroused and his blood 
was up so that he plunged into the yawning dark- 
ness without an instant’s hesitation. With his 
foot on the solid dirt floor at last, he paused a 
moment, trying to pierce the dead gloom and to 
get his bearings. It was dark and damp and 


134 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


musty and cold. He could hear no sound save 
the beating of his own heart. 

“I have you cornered at last!” he cried. 
“ Come out and save me the trouble of looking 
you up in this Stygian blackness ! If I knock my 
nose against a bin of potatoes or a barrel of 
apples a few times, I am not likely to be charit- 
ably disposed.” 

Absolute silence answered him, but as his eyes 
became accustomed to the dark, and objects be- 
gan to assume shape, he could see the dirt walls 
before him and was surprised to find that the 
cellar was of such meager dimensions. It simpli- 
fied his task. Listening intently, he thought he 
could hear some one breathing. He decided that 
the sound came from behind some large packing 
boxes in the far corner. Drawing his revolver 
for the first time during the whole of this uncanny 
adventure, he stepped quietly forward, saying, 
curtly : 

“ Now, come out of there or I will haul you out 
by the heels ! ” 

The same ghostly silence greeted his peremp- 
tory command, but there was no mistaking now 
the sound of quick breathing. He thrust a hand 
behind the box barricade, touched and immedi- 
ately grasped a slender arm, seized it with both 
hands, and drew from behind the ineffectual 
shelter the now unresisting form of a woman. 


ARMY OF THE SOUTHWEST 135 


By the faint glimmer of light from the open trap 
and from a tiny, dust-washed window, he ob- 
served that she was young and unafraid. She 
rose to her feet — she had been crouching low — 
shook herself free of his detaining hold, put her 
back against the cellar wall, and said: 

“ Well? ” 


CHAPTER X 


AN EARNEST CHAMPION 

W ELL,” said Sammy, “ I pulled you out 
as I said I would.” 

“ But not by the heels as you said you would.” 
“ Why did you run away from me? ” 

“ Why did you run after me? ” 

“ I thought you must be some rebel general, 
you tried so desperately to escape.” 

“ And I thought you must be some blood- 
thirsty Guerrilla, kicking down the door and rush- 
ing in the way you did.” 

“Didn’t you hear me introduce myself?” 

“ In war time, the truth is not in — men.” 

“ If you had let me in when I asked you to, I 
should not have kicked down the door.” 

“ I did not want you to come in.” 

“ But I wanted to come in.” 

“ What for? ” 

“ To see you, of course. Why did n’t you open 
the door? ” 

“ I did n’t want to see you.” 

“Well, you don’t see me — and I can’t see 
you down here in this nether dark — so, now that 

136 


AN EARNEST CHAMPION 137 


I am in, do n’t you think we had better go up 
stairs and continue this argument in the light? 
Possibly you won’t be so averse to seeing me after 
I have explained my errand, and I should he glad 
indeed to see you — in a better light.” 

“ Now that you see I am only a poor, unpro- 
tected girl, do n’t you think the very best thing 
you can do is to go away at once and leave me in 
peace? ” 

“ I am loading some wagons out here in the 
cornfield and am trying to find some one with 
whom to settle the account.” 

“ I do not expect my father home until supper 
time this evening. Corn is worth fifty cents a 
bushel. If you like, and are really desirous of 
making what amends you can for this highway 
robbery — I say nothing about your high-handed 
procedure in the home of a quiet, private citizen 
• — estimate the amount you have taken, leave the 
money on the table in the kitchen, and return to 
your camp.” 

“ Why are you afraid to come up into the light 
and take the money yourself? I assure you I am 
perfectly harmless, and am only acting under 
orders from my colonel. It is not highway rob- 
bery at all. Our horses must be fed, and we pay 
for all we get — which is more than can be said 
of a certain rebel general I know of.” 

“ Well, then, since you must have an answer, 


138 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


I am so ugly that I do n’t let anybody see me 
when I can help it.” 

“ I do not believe that. Ugliness does not go 
with a voice like yours.” 

“ All southerners have soft voices, if that is 
what you mean. Won’t you go now and do as I 
suggested? ” 

“ You arouse my curiosity more and more. 
There must be some very urgent reason why you 
so persistently refuse to come upstairs. You 
haven’t any Johnny Rebs hidden away down 
here, have you? ” 

“ There is n’t a rebel general in the house.” 

“ I did n’t say rebel generals.” 

“ Oh, from what you remarked a while ago, I 
assumed it was rebel generals you were after. 
Well, then, there are no rebels here at all, and 
I wish you would go away.” 

“ All right, I will go. You will find the money 
on the kitchen table, unless you change your mind 
and are on hand yourself to receive it when I 
return. Meanwhile, won’t you change your 
mind? I want to see you — mighty bad.” 

Without waiting for a reply to this, Sammy 
ran lightly up the uncertain steps and hastened 
out to where his men were gathering the corn. 
He was young enough to be somewhat excited 
over his adventure with the girl in the cellar, and 
his curiosity was unbounded; but he saw no way 


AN EARNEST CHAMPION 139 


of satisfying it, for by no stretch of the imagina- 
tion could he make it seem that his pursuing of 
the only course possible for a gentleman con- 
flicted in any way with his duties as a soldier. 
Much as he should like to probe farther into the 
little mystery, of what possible use could be 
the poor little personal secrets of a lone girl to the 
government of the United States? Plainly, there 
was nothing left for him to do but to garner his 
grain, weigh it mentally, and leave the purchase 
price thereof on the table for the mysterious, 
sweet-voiced girl who would not come up into 
the light. 

The wagons filled to overflowing, he proceeded 
painstakingly to estimate the number of bushels 
they contained. In this his judgment was more 
to be relied upon than that of many an older and 
wiser head, for the weary years of his appren- 
ticeship to the cleared cornfields back in Hoosier- 
land when he and Herbert were forced to assume 
the stature of men, while still but boys, served 
him well now. To be sure, realizing the pitfalls 
of mental calculation, and desiring to be abso- 
lutely fair to the farmer — further influenced, 
perhaps, by the pleasing memory of a sweet voice 
and a tantalizing suggestion of grace of figure in 
the gloom of the cellar, he erred rather on the 
side of the owner of the corn than that of the 
Commissary Department. However, his work 


140 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


completed at last, he surveyed the well filled 
wagons with pardonable, boyish pride in his 
achievement, and thought that General Halleck’s 
chief quartermaster, young Captain Philip H. 
Sheridan, would be well pleased with this addi- 
tion to his hard-earned supplies. 

Once more arriving at the house, he sat down 
on the back stoop conscientiously to go over his 
figures again. Suddenly, he started up in amaze- 
ment. Voices! Could it be possible? His 
imagination must be playing him tricks. It had 
been unusually wrought up since he had chased 
frantically through the empty house after a 
rustling of ghostly garments fleeing on before. 
Nevertheless, he placed his ear close against the 
door. There were indeed voices carrying on a 
low-toned conversation, and one of them was the 
voice of a man. The girl had changed her mind, 
then, as he had hoped she would do — but how 
would she explain the presence of the man ? Had 
her father unexpectedly returned, or had he been 
in hiding all the while? Where, then, if the lat- 
ter supposition were correct? He sprang to his 
feet and flung open the door. As he did so, the 
cumbersome trap door fell into place again and 
a woman was just disappearing into the next 
room. 

“Stop a moment, if you please!” cried 
Sammy, commandingly, all romancing and 


AN EARNEST CHAMPION 141 


haunting memory of lilting cadences in a wom- 
an’s voice lost sight of in the soldier’s sterner 
duty. 

“ I thought you were not going to insist upon 
seeing me,” replied the young woman, halting 
upon the inner threshold but without turning her 
head. “ Lay the money on the table.” 

“ You said there was no one else in the house. 
I know now that you were not telling me the 
truth. The situation is altogether changed.” 

“ You are mistaken. I did not say there was 
no one in the house. You were speaking of rebels 
only. This is a private dwelling and my affairs 
are — my affairs. You will please go without 
further foolish argument.” 

“You certainly gave me to understand that 
you were alone in the house, even if you did not 
say so in so many words. As for your affairs, in 
war time, dear lady, everybody’s affairs are the 
affairs of the United States Government, al- 
though I confess I never realized it so fully as 
when I heard that trap door slam just now.” 

“Well, say I — lied, then,” said the girl, 
“ why do you think I did so? ” 

“ That is exactly what I wish to find out,” 
cried Sammy, eagerly. “More than that, I will 
find out, so you might just as well turn around 
and talk this matter over with me. I have forti- 
fied myself against the sight of your ugly face.” 


142 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


Without another word, the girl turned and 
looked at him. Her face was a puzzle to Sammy. 
It was not a beautiful face but it was so far from 
plain as to make utterly unwarrantable her asser- 
tion of ugliness as an excuse for remaining un- 
derground. Her eyes were deep brown, large 
and clear and steady, and as she gazed unflinch- 
ingly at him, there was a question in them. Her 
soft brown hair was looped over her ears, as 
was the fashion of that day, and the ends were 
coiled low on her neck. She was exquisitely neat 
though her simple frock of brown and white 
print was faded with many washings and frail 
with many mendings. There was something 
about the clear, steadfast gaze, and the indefin- 
able charm of her whole attitude standing quietly 
upon the inner threshold waiting his will that 
reminded him someway of little Mary Ann Ham- 
ilton of those old days in the backwoods of 
Indiana. Mary Ann had ever been timid to the 
point of fleeing frantically from real or imagined 
danger, until cornered, when she would turn and 
face her fears as unflinchingly as this shabby 
young woman had done, and he smiled with 
reminiscent tenderness, remembering how boldly 
the bashful child had championed his cause 
against the school-boy bully, Bob Halstead. 
Perhaps it was this fleeting resemblance that 
made her so instantly attractive to Sammy in 


AN EARNEST CHAMPION 143 


spite of her deception, which, after all, was in 
war time when all is fair. 

“ What do you wish to ask of me? I told you 
there was no one here except myself. If you 
still think there is, you are welcome to continue 
your brigandish search and to take charge of 
whomsoever you may find. Why do you not pro- 
ceed? I am a woman and alone. I cannot en- 
force my wishes. I wonder you hesitate to carry 
out your own.” 

The words were double-edged but Sammy did 
not wince. Notwithstanding the haunting charm 
of her fair young face, pale and worn now 
almost to haggardness, his duty was clearly 
uppermost in his mind. 

‘‘Thank you,” he rejoined, promptly. “I, 
shall avail myself of your grudging permission 
right gladty. I know where he is this time, so 
you will not be long inconvenienced by my ruffi- 
anly behavior. I promise, without solicitation, 
to be as expeditious as the circumstances will per- 
mit,” and he stepped briskly toward the trap- 
door. 

The girl threw out her hand in an involuntary 
gesture of pleading. 

“ You are right,” she said, and for the first 
time since his discovery of her in the cellar, she 
was visibly perturbed. “ He is down there. 
Come into the parlor, won’t you, and sit down 


144 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 

for a little while? Let us talk it over as you 
yourself suggested a moment ago. I will tell 
you who he is and everything I know about 
him — which is n’t much. Please believe me.” 

“ All in good time,” said Sammy. “ I will just 
get my man first, if you please. He might slip 
away while we were discussing him, otherwise.” 

“ You are afraid that I am still deceiving you,” 
replied the girl. “ You think I am trying to toll 
you away so that the man down there may make 
his escape. You are mistaken, but of course I 
cannot make you believe that now. Nevertheless, 
I am not a harborer of spies, nor of rebel gen- 
erals, as you seem to think.” 

She was so slow and deliberate in her speech 
and movements that Sammy was strengthened in 
his belief that she had all the while been playing 
for time. He focused his attention upon the 
trap-door and smiled with inward satisfaction, 
remembering the impossible width of the tiny, 
dust-begrimed window below. “ Play away,” 
he thought, indulgently, feeling himself master 
of the situation. 

“ You can sit here,” continued the girl, plac- 
ing a chair close to the door leading into the 
kitchen, which commanded an unobstructed view 
of the innocent-looking square in the floor. 
“ Then nothing can happen without your knowl- 
edge. Are you satisfied? ” 


AN EARNEST CHAMPION 145 


“ Perfectly.” He stepped forward into the 
adjoining room and sat down. “ Now, then, 
young Miss Homely Woman, you may proceed, 
but do not be long in the telling. My wagons are 
ready to start on their way back to camp, and I 
have no time to lose.” 

“ I suppose you would like to know my real 
reason for not coming upstairs with you,” the 
girl said, seating herself and tapping the floor 
with her shapely foot in its worn shoe. “ It was 
on account of — the man, of course.” 

“ Your father? ” 

“A — friend.” 

Turning from him, her eyes sought the win- 
dow, and she allowed her gaze to rest idly for a 
moment upon the cold, sodden outdoors. 

“ Oh, what is the use!” she exclaimed, sud- 
denly, rising and walking restlessly over to this 
same window with its dreary prospect. “ He 
ran away from the Union army. If there were 
any way out, I wouldn’t tell General Curtis 
himself — let alone a boy like you. But there 
is n’t — so now you know it all — only that it 
would be brutal to visit this first offense upon 
his head. He could n’t help it. I know, you see, 
because — ” 

“ Brutal to courtmartial a cowardly deserter 
from the Army of the United States? ” broke in 
Sammy, coldly. 


146 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


“ Do n’t call names,” begged the girl. “ There 
is harshness enough in the world without that. 
He is so young — he ’s just like a girl. He said 
he never could explain why he ran away — he 
did n’t mean to. Something came over him and 
he just had to go. It was the Guerrillas, you 
know, and it was his first real experience. His 
company was out on some detail — and he said 
when men began to fall around him, he went 
wild and just turned and ran for his life. He 
does n’t even know how the skirmish came out.” 

“And how did he happen to come here?” 
asked Sammy, hating himself for the question, 
yet urged to it by his desire to ascertain, if pos- 
sible, for his peace of mind, of how long standing 
was this alleged friendship between a common 
deserter and the girl whose indefinable charm had 
appealed to him so strongly. 

She gave him a fleeting glance, and then she 
smiled a little. 

“ I do n’t know,” she said, “ unless, perhaps, 
he thought he might receive help. He needed it 
— so much.” 

“ But you — why did you run away ? Granted 
your desire to protect your friend, of what pos- 
sible benefit could that wild chase through this 
ghostly house be to him. Didn’t you realize 
that, under the mysterious circumstances of a 
rustling garment floating on before, one would 


AN EARNEST CHAMPION 147 


be a hundred times more apt to prosecute a thor- 
ough, systematic search than if you had come 
naturally to the door when I knocked, and en- 
quired my business? ” 

She faced him squarely, and then he realized 
that it was her eyes which had set him a-dreaming 
of little true-eyed Mary Ann of the backwoods. 
Unconsciously, he sighed. He had lived long 
enough already to learn that the friends of one’s 
later and larger life are seldom so stanchly true 
as were those first ones with whom one played 
hookey, raided watermelon beds, ate green per- 
simmons, and walked boldly through dark and 
haunted woods only to scamper back alone in 
quaking fear of seeing something. 

“ I hoped you would n’t hear me,” she said. 
“ I kept hoping maybe you were just pursuing 
your * systematic search,’ and would desist as 
soon as you had been all over the house. I did n’t 
want to lie,’ even for him — unless I had to. I 
preferred to hide.” 

“ I do not understand yet, however, why you 
refused to come to the light,” he insisted. 

“ It was this way. When I went into the cel- 
lar to hide, this man heard me and undertook to 
creep out of his place of concealment. He 
thought perhaps I needed help. He was behind 
a big pile of boxes and they toppled over on him, 
pinning him to the ground. I had just started 


148 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


to dig him out of the wreck when I heard you 
coming. I did n’t know whether he was killed or 
not — the boxes were so very heavy — but I whis- 
pered to him to keep still, and had just time my- 
self to creep behind a box when you came down. 
I thought you would never go,” she continued, 
naively. “ I did so want to find out whether he 
was injured or not. He wasn’t hurt a bit — 
only bruised a little — but of course I did n’t 
know that then. So now you know why I was so 
anxious for you to go.” 

“ But you knew I would come back. If he 
had not made himself heard so soon, I should 
have returned to camp wholly unsuspicious.” 

“ He was determined to ‘ take his medicine 
then and there,’ as he put it. He would not obey. 
He came up in spite of all I could do. But I — 
pushed him back. I was afraid of you.” 

“Why?” 

“ You are too young to show mercy, too strong 
to understand fear.” 

“ How do you know? You are not so very old 
yourself,” retorted Sammy, nettled at this sec- 
ond reference to his youth. 

“ Women are always older than men.” 

“ Did he tell you to what company he be- 
longed? ” 

“ Yes. It was Company E, Eighteenth Indi- 
ana, I think.” 


AN EARNEST CHAMPION 149 


“ Why, that is my company,” exclaimed 
Sammy, in surprise. “ Of course, Percy Selvin, 
I might have known! Zack Posey, one of my 
men, told me about his defection when the skir- 
mish was over — but there are so many strag- 
glers, I had forgotten for the moment. We were 
taken by surprise — we had thought it too warm 
for Guerrilla tactics with Curtis’s army on the 
march — but we came out of it with hardly a 
scratch ourselves, though we damaged up the 
other side considerably. Zack said young Selvin 
acted like a scared rabbit. He turned at the very 
first shot and hopped for the tall timber in great 
leaps — for all the world like a hunted cotton- 
tail. I never could see a rabbit scurrying for 
shelter from the hunters without being sorry. 
I reckon I ’m sort of chicken-hearted — and yet 
I ’ll have to have him arrested and courtmar- 
tialed. I ’m sorry — and surprised, too. He 
always drilled so well. One would have said he 
had more than the ordinary makings of a good 
soldier in him.” 

“ He ? s so young.” said the girl, musingly. 
“ It seems as if there ought to be some way out 
of it. Does n’t the army ever give boys another 
chance? Isn’t there enough of suffering and 
death without that? This boy cried last night — 
he so wanted to be brave. You talk about hunted 
rabbits — but when a man cries, that is the most 


150 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


sad of all. I knew a boy once who would not 
run and who would not cry, when all the world 
would have forgiven him for it. I have never 
forgotten it. But we can’t all be like that, Lieu- 
tenant. Some of us need another chance. Your 
uniform is pretty new as yet,” she continued, 
gravely. “ Are you so sure of yourself that you 
needs must condemn another so soon? To be 
sure there was that skirmish — but if you were 
surprised on a lonely picket or should come un- 
expectedly upon Price’s army, do you know of 
yourself that you would not want to run — even 
though you did n’t? Could n’t you at least under- 
stand the impulse? ” 

“ I am so sure of myself,” responded Sammy, 
with a smile, “ that I am almost sure, under the 
conditions you mention, I should make no bones 
of it whatever, but simply bolt at the first hint 
of alarm. So it would n’t do to be too hard on 
young Selvin, I reckon. And as Zack and I are 
the only ones who know anything about his sud- 
den defection, I think we can keep it from the 
boys and give him his — other chance. Zack has 
already fathered him on more than one occasion. 
There ’s no fear of Zack. So trot out your man, 
young lady. When the boys see us together, 
they ’ll just naturally think I knew where he was* 
all the time.” 

The girl rose quickly, a pleased light on her 


AN EARNEST CHAMPION 151 


face. She half held out her hand, but repented 
the impulse and let it fall to her side again. 

“ And please do n’t be skimpy with his other 
chance,” she said, earnestly, while her pretty 
mouth quivered with feeling. “ Nor cut it on the 
bias. Gather it full, Lieutenant, on a double 
thread — and watch over him a little, won’t you, 
when the battle comes on, remembering always 
that we can’t all be battle mad.” 

“ Call him up ! ” said Sammy, briefly, almost 
curtly, conscious again of a feeling of resentment 
that this girl whom he so romantically discov- 
ered should continue to display so great an 
interest in a common young deserter from the 
army. Although he himself had been inclined to 
leniency in dealing with Selvin, yet he had hun- 
gered for her approbation; and now, instead of 
being grateful to him for what he had done, like 
Oliver Twist, she “ wanted more.” 

She looked at him steadily a moment, and then 
walked unhesitatingly toward the trap-door. 
Sammy sprang forward to lift it for her. 


CHAPTER XI 


THE GUERRILLAS OUT-WITTED 

P EERING down into the dark cellar- way, 
Sammy called in the friendly way he had, 
“ Hello there, Selvin! Come on up! The fight ’s 
over.” 

The girl looked at him reproachfully for the 
little dig, but he met her glance with one of gay 
banter. 

“ How are you, Lieutenant,” said the boy, 
saluting, as he crawled through the opening. 

“ What have you to say for yourself, Selvin? ” 
asked Sammy, more gravely. 

“ Nothing, Lieutenant,” replied the boy sim* 
ply. “ I went wild when the firing began and 
ran away — that is all.” 

The young face was white and drawn from 
fatigue, exposure, regret, self-reproach, and, 
possibly, homesickness. He was, in very truth, 
only a boy in years and experience. His clothes 
were soiled and torn from his mad rush through 
mud and bramble and brush to get away from it 
— the awful horror of the loud, relentless guns. 
Across his forehead was a purple bruise where 

152 


GUERRILLAS OUT-WITTED 153 


the avalanche of toppling boxes in the cellar had 
struck him in its descent. Altogether, he was a 
sorry-looking figure, but he looked at Sammy 
with no flinching in the brown eyes in which the 
unconscious pathos of their soft youth, shrinking 
involuntarily from the swift harbinger of sud- 
den death as shrieked forth by the terrible guns, 
was the only appeal for mercy. It required 
heroism to do that, for, to the average soldier, 
there is no crime so despicable, no affront so un- 
forgivable, no cowardice so utter, as that of a 
deserter in action; and, in the eyes of Company 
E, already, Lieutenant Goodman was more than 
the average soldier, he was the very ideal of a 
soldier. It took much of courage to look at this 
young commander unfalteringly. 

“ This young woman — by the way, Selvin, 
won’t you introduce me? It is almighty awk- 
ward to keep saying ‘ the young woman ’ all the 
while — ” 

“ To be sure,” interrupted Selvin, quickly. 
“ This is Lieutenant Goodman, Company E, 
Eighteenth Indiana, Miss — ” he paused, in sur- 
prised wonder, while the girl broke into a peal of 
merry laughter. 

“ How could I ever forget it, when he in- 
formed me of that fact himself in such stentorian 
tones through the barred and bolted door of my 
castle?” she said, gayly. 


154 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


“ But why it should be considered a subject of 
ridicule — ” began Sammy, aggrieved, but 
vastly relieved, nevertheless, to learn that Sel- 
vin’s acquaintance was evidently not of long 
standing, that, in all probability, it had no date 
prior to his coming to her dwelling for refuge. 

“ Oh, please do forgive me,” cried the girl, in 
quick but smiling penitence. “ It was not at that 
I was laughing at all. I was only wondering 
why Mr. Selvin did not finish his introduction.” 

“ I do n’t know your name,” explained Selvin, 
in blushing apology. “You have been so good 
to me I forgot that you had never told me.” 

“ My name is Brown, Sara Brown,” said the 
girl, quietly. 

“ On Miss Brown’s recommendation,” pro- 
ceeded Sammy, “ as well as on account of a 
belief in you that I hold in spite of your action of 
yesterday, I have about made up my mind to 
give you another chance.” 

“ You do n’t mean it! ” cried Selvin, incredu- 
lously. “ Oh, if you only would! ” The unex- 
pected hope of a reprieve all at once so glorified 
the face of the young deserter that Sammy was 
touched and Sara Brown turned away her face 
to hide the sudden tears. “ With you for my 
leader,” continued the boy, joyously, gazing at 
Sammy almost adoringly, “ and you — a woman 
like you — ” turning to Sara and smiling into 


GUERRILLAS OUT-WITTED 155 


her face as she stood by his side, “ to care what 
I do — or do n’t do — I ought to make a brave 
soldier yet — and I hope some one will shoot me 
in the back if I betray your confidence.” He was 
speaking to both but he was looking into Sara’s 
eyes as he spoke. 

“ I know that you will do your duty,” she an- 
swered the unvoiced pledge, steadily. “ I am 
going to ask your Lieutenant to let me know 
once in a while how you do it and how you fare. 
I shall always be interested. I shall never for- 
get you.” 

“ How glad I shall be to do that! ” exclaimed 
Sammy, his heart leaping exultantly at the 
thought that this girl was not to pass out of his 
life at once and forever, even though, in carry- 
ing out her wishes, he should be seemingly 
furthering the interests of another man. “ And 
now, Selvin, if anybody asks you where you 
have been, inform that person that I know where 
you were. Remember, this is your chance ! " 

The peculiar emphasis placed on the word was 
brimful of significance, and Selvin involuntarily 
straightened himself to meet the ultimatum. 
Sammy did not say a chance — one of possible 
others — just your chance , and Selvin under- 
stood. 

“ And I am afraid your opportunity has come 
sooner than we expected,” said Sammy, suddenly 


156 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


his voice as he spoke assuming the stern, incis- 
ive tones of the officer in action. The hoof- 
beats of horses approaching as rapidly as the 
heavy roads would permit could now be distinctly 
heard, and Sammy stepped quickly to the win- 
dow. “ There is no mistake this time. They 
bear all the hall-marks of Guerrilla gentry, and 
there is no mean number, either.” He crossed 
the kitchen floor, and, opening the door, looked 
out in the direction of the departing wagon train. 
The deserted cornfield lay trampled and forlorn 
under the cloudy sky. Wagons and men had dis- 
appeared around a bend in the road. He 
breathed a sigh of relief, even while deploring 
the exigencies of the adventure which had all 
morning seemed bent upon hindering him from 
joining his command. Closing the door softly, 
he rejoined his companions awaiting his direc- 
tions in trembling speechlessness. 

“ If they stop for plunder,” he said, speaking 
rapidly, “ Selvin and I will take to the cellar 
and hide there until they go away or until 
we can plan some means of escape. They 
will have no reason to suspect our presence, 
so no doubt we shall be allowed to lie by 
in quiet. I do not think they will interfere 
with you in any way, Miss Brown. If they 
should, I shall not be very far away, you know. 
Remember that. If they do not stop, then Sel- 


GUERRILLAS OUT-WITTED 157 


vin and I must hasten forward at once. We 
have simply got to reach my men before the 
fight is over. We cannot hope to overtake them 
ahead of these mounted men.” 

“ There are two horses hid in the brush,” said 
Sara, earnestly. She had recovered somewhat 
of her courage though her heart was still beating 
very fast indeed. “ Take them! The Guerrillas 
will get them sooner or later anyway, if vou 
do n’t.” 

“How good you are! I will borrow them 
gladly — if I can only get the chance ! It may 
be just possible then for me to make a detour 
and reach the wagons before the Guerrillas over- 
take them.” 

“ They are turning in,” the girl whispered, her 
face blanching a little. She was watching from 
the window, while Sammy had moved farther 
back into the room for fear of being seen, which 
contingency could only result in serious trouble 
to the Browns for harboring Union soldiers, be- 
sides being disastrous to his hopes of being able 
to rejoin his command before the end. 

“ Quick, for the cellar, Selvin! ” cried Sammy. 
“ It seems to be a decidedly popular place of late. 
Remember,” lowering his voice and letting his 
glance linger for just one fleeting moment bn 
the clear profile and colorless face of the girl 
standing so bravely by the window, “ I shall be 


158 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


right at the head of the steps. I shall hear and 
know ™ everything. Is your revolver loaded, 
Selvin? ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ I have a rifle. It hangs behind the door 
there,” said Sara. “ I was born and raised in 
the backwoods. I shall know how to use it.” 

Glancing at Selvin as he took his arm for the 
descent, Sammy noticed that the boy had whit- 
ened to the very lips and in the luminous brown 
eyes was the look of a trapped animal. 

“ Selvin!” he cried, sharply. “ This is your 
chance, boy! For God’s sake, brace up! Do 
just as I say! Do you hear? Just as I say! ” 
In a moment, the heavy trap-door had closed 
over their heads. Sara Brown was alone. Al- 
most immediately there was a loud rapping at 
the door. Sammy, listening, heard her stifle an 
involuntary gasp of terror before she walked 
unhurriedly to the door and opened it, and then 
he heard a harsh voice demand : 

“ Where is the old man o’ the house? ” 

His head reeled and he was forced to steady 
himself by grasping Selvin’s shoulder, while, 
with the other hand, he brushed away in the dark- 
ness an imaginary film before his eyes. He was 
living over again the saddest day of his life — 
and the most terrible. He was not mistaken. 
The voice was that of Hank Halstead. 


GUERRILLAS OUT-WITTED 159 


“ My father is not at home,” replied Sara, 
quietly, to the rough question. 

“ Where is he? ” 

“ He went to town this morning.” 

“ Mighty lucky thing for him that he was took 
with that air notion, and he ’d better not show 
up around here agin if he knows what ’s good for 
him. It might be jist as well for you to tell 
him that when you see him. We make this here 
neighborhood a purty hot place for nigger lovers 
and sich.” 

“ Yes, I understand that you, and such as you, 
are too cowardly to go and fight where there is 
real fighting, but that you bravely make war 
upon women and children and old men.” 

Sammy, listening uneasily to the proud, clear 
voice, now curiously unafraid, and realizing how 
true was all she said and how such truth always 
rankled, felt an almost uncontrollable impulse 
to come forth and shake her for the audacity 
which could only bring down wrath and probable 
actual harm upon her head. 

“ Do n’t you go to gittin’ too smart, Miss, and 
above all things, you ’d better not let my men 
hear you talk that away.” 

“ Oh, I have no doubt that they would get 
together in a body, make a heroic charge upon 
me and kill me, the dragon, every one of the 
brave fellows being a veritable St. George.” The 


160 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 

flagrant sarcasm in the soft voice caused Sammy 
to wonder at her courage in silent, though dis- 
approving admiration. “ I wonder that you 
hesitate at all,” she went on, “ since murder seems 
to be your occupation in life.” 

“ Them ’s purty nasty words, my girl, and 
purty bold as well. You ’d better look a leetle 
out, as I was a-tellin’ you before, and you might 
as well know once and for all that we ’low to 
have no Union sympathizers sich as you folks 
be around these here parts. Git a few clothes 
together and git, for we ’re goin’ to burn the 
house down right away. There ain’t a-goin’ to 
be ary stick o’ timber left of ary buildin’ ’gin 
we git through, and you kin thank your stars 
you ’re a woman or we ’d shoot you down like 
we would a dawg. If there are any horses in 
the barn, you kin have one to git out o’ the ken- 
try with, if you ’ll hurry.” 

“ How magnanimous! ” 

“ Do n’t you go to talkin’ too much, my lady, 
or I might accidentally change my mind. Hurry 
now! If you ain’t ready ’gin the time I come 
back with your horse, you ’ll jist have to stay 
and take your medicine. I ’ll have done all for 
you I could,” and Sammy heard the door slam 
on his retreating form. It was a welcome sound. 
He put the weight of his shoulders to the trap 
and shoved it open. 


GUERRILLAS OUT-WITTED 161 


“ It is as I thought,” he said, hurriedly, and 
in a low voice. “ You are perfectly safe. They 
will let you go in peace. I think he would be 
afraid of a woman’s ghost,” he interpolated, bit- 
terly and enigmatically. “ Come on, Selvin, 
now’s our chance! We haven’t a moment to 
lose. I think we can get to the timber on the 
other side of the road without being seen as the 
men all seem to be down at the barn. Good-by, 
Miss Brown. Hurry, as Hank said, and — I 
shall see you again.” 

The boys ran lightly through the hall to the 
front door and Sammy threw it open to find 
Hank Halstead standing squarely before the 
opening with a diabolical grin upon his face, a 
cocked revolver in his hand. 

“ My little ruse worked, did n’t it? ” he began, 
in disagreeable triumph. “ I ’lowed there might 
be somebody hangin’ round. I did n’t altogether 
believe that girl’s story, either, ’bout her pap’s 
bein’ away. Why — you — - Sammy — ” 

Gradually, his eyes had widened with a dawn- 
ing fear and horror, and a chalky whiteness 
spread over his countenance, while a stammering 
took the place of the swaggering tones of 
triumph. Recognition had been slower with him 
than it had been with Sammy. The years had 
made a man of Sammy Goodman, while he re- 
membered only a boy with a white face, blazing 


162 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


eyes, and a bleeding leg. Slowly, unconsciously, 
his arm with its still cocked revolver fell to his 
side, while he gazed, as if hypnotized, into the 
face of Gerry Goodman’s son. Suddenly realiz- 
ing his blunder, all too late, he would have 
whistled for his men, but Sammy foiled any such 
design by leaping forward and planting a terrific 
blow squarely in the face of the Guerrilla leader, 
who fell to the ground like a log. 

“ Is he dead? ” whispered Selvin. 

“ I do n’t know. I hope so,” replied Sammy, 
briefly. “We have n’t time to ascertain. Help 
me pack him into the house,” he continued, 
reverting to the provincialism of his boyhood in 
the stress of the moment. 

They dragged the unconscious man into the 
house, bound him securely with a clothesline 
which Sara fetched from somewhere with amaz- 
ing presence of mind, gagged him and tossed him 
into a corner. 

“You are going to leave him here then?” 
asked the girl, a strange tone in her voice which 
caused Sammy to glance at her curiously. 

“ Of course. There is nothing else to do now. 
But,” suddenly bethinking himself, “ not you. 
You will have to come with us. We dare not 
leave you after this. Come on, both of you!” 

Sara snatched a shawl from a peg on the wall, 
and the trio slipped cautiously out of the front 


GUERRILLAS OUT-WITTED 163 


door. There was no one in sight. Taking Sara’s 
hand in his and bidding Selvin follow, Sammy 
led the flight across the road and into the timber 
on the other side. When they had gone a con- 
siderable distance straight toward the heart of 
the forest, they turned and went parallel with the 
road, following the direction pursued by Sam- 
my’s own men a short time before. 

It was dank and cold under the winter- 
stripped trees, and the dead wet leaves of other 
years served only to make the sogginess of the 
unblazed woods trail soggier still. Their way 
was further impeded by huge, rotting logs which 
had to be surmounted or gone around. Dead 
limbs reached up and struck at their faces with 
vicious pertinacity, or slapped them unexpectedly 
from above. Briers caught at and tore their 
clothes. Frequently, they were forced to pause 
and take bearings, fearful of straying too far 
from the road and becoming confused as to direc- 
tion which would be disastrous in the cloudy state 
of the weather. Presently, it set in to rain, and 
then to snow, and the wind grew keener. De- 
termined not to be a hindrance, Sara Brown 
pressed her lips together and trudged along, 
stubbornly refusing all offers of help, though her 
feet were wet and cold, and the shawl, only 
partially covering her slim, girlish form in its 
thin, cotton gown, was pitifully inadequate to 


164 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


the requirements of the cutting wind which 
howled mournfully through the bare trees. Once, 
she tripped over a treacherously hidden branch 
of a fallen tree and fell to the muddy ground, 
where she lay, too wet and chilled and momentar- 
ily discouraged to summon the ambition neces- 
sary for arising immediately. She was a pitiful 
looking object huddled there upon the ground, 
and Sammy’s heart smote him. But he had to 
compel her to go on. There was no other way. 

“ I can’t go a step farther — and I won’t,” 
she declared, mutinously, when Sammy stooped 
to lift her. “ I know the way back. I ’ll just 
wait till those bushwhackers have passed and then 
go home by the road like a civilized being.” 

“ Hardly,” said Sammy. “ When they dis- 
cover what we have done to their leader, they will 
have no mercy left for you. Do hurry, Miss 
Brown! Every instant of delay is dangerous! 
We ’ll help you, Selvin and I.” 

He took hold of one arm while he was speak- 
ing, motioned for Selvin to take the other, and 
gently but firmly pushed her forward. When he 
felt her shiver, he hastily divested himself of his 
army overcoat and wrapped it securely around 
her in spite of her protests. Tears of vexation 
came into her eyes when she found she could not 
move him. Her pride rebelled — her obligations 
were becoming so manifold. 


GUERRILLAS OUT-WITTED 165 

“Never you mind — I'll get even for this 
some time,” she said, childishly, defiantly. “ I ’ll 
show you I ’m not a child to be carried hither and 
yon and wrapped in swaddling clothes whether I 
will or not, at the whim of anybody or everybody 
who happens along. Remember that! ” 

“ 1 11 remember,” promised Sammy. “ Mean- 
while, I think we had better get into the road 
again. We ’ve passed the big bend, I think, and 
must be nearly up with the wagons. They have 
to move so tarnationally slow. I do n’t want to 
run any risk of passing them — perhaps travel- 
ing will be easier, too. The Guerrillas may delay 
indefinitely, or they may not come this way at all. 
They will spend some time in trying to locate the 
direction pursued by the assailants of their 
worthy leader.” 

It was easier traveling by the road; though 
the mud, newly lubricated by the fresh fall of 
sleet and drizzling rain, was deeper and stickier 
than in the woods, their way was now free from 
the many other obstacles which there beset their 
trail, and they pressed forward with renewed 
energy. Presently, rounding another bend, they 
were overjoyed to see the men and wagons not 
more than three hundred yards on ahead, but 
the next moment relief was swallowed up in 
alarm by the sound of galloping hoofbeats in 
their rear. Sammy ran swiftly back to the turn 


166 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


of the road to reconnoiter. A considerable band 
of mounted men was bearing down hard upon 
them. 

“ And it is I — I — who am delaying you, and 
have been all along,” cried Sara, when he had 
returned and given his report. “ And now they 
will overtake us after all, and you will be killed 
before you have a chance to fight with your men. 
Run! Oh, do run! Leave me! I will come as 
fast as I can. They will not hurt me. Please! 
Please!” 

But that her pleading was futile, she knew all 
the time from Sammy’s half smile of almost 
amused dissent. And then before she realized 
what was coming, or had time to expostulate, the 
two young men picked her up bodily and ran 
forward, exerting all the strength they had in 
their lithe young bodies. As soon as his voice 
could be distinctly heard and understood, Sammy 
cried out in command, and, with a rousing cheer, 
the plucky little fraction of a company halted 
and formed in perfect discipline before the 
wagons. 

The Guerrillas had espied Sammy on his little 
journey of reconnoissance and they swung round 
the bend with yells of anticipatory triumph. 
They checked their horses in surprised confusion, 
however, at the unexpected sight of a force of 
Union soldiers lined up in waiting. Although 


GUERRILLAS OUT-WITTED 167 


they outnumbered Sammy’s little command, they 
did not seem inclined to fight, and, after a few 
preliminary shots had been interchanged, they 
wheeled and galloped back. 

The boys were all palpably curious about the 
young woman their commander was so absorb- 
edly engaged in trying to make comfortable in 
one of the loaded wagons, but army discipline 
forbade question or comment. Zack, especially, 
was non-plussed, and stared with round eyes and 
dropped chin; and then, moving forward to offer 
his own coat, slowly, he grinned. He was think- 
ing of the southern beauties Sammy had said he 
was free to love; and then, his smile grew wist- 
fully tender, for from Sammy’s possible love 
affair, his thought naturally turned to old Aunt 
Salina Haskin’s granddaughter Susie. 


CHAPTER XII 


A NIGHT ADVENTUEE 

W HEN the foraging party arrived at the 
camp, the early dusk was beginning to 
creep over the valley of the Osage. Night was 
closing in damp and cloudy, but the rain had tem- 
porarily ceased. It grew so clammily cold that 
the indications were for a freeze, unless the rain 
began again, which would only serve to further 
incapacitate the roads for the passing of the 
army. The ruts and only partially frozen hum- 
mocks would make marching a veritable martyr- 
dom, and yet the Division was preparing to 
resume its march in the morning. Sammy, in- 
quiring the cause for the fever of unrest and 
excitement which seemed to pervade the atmos- 
phere of the entire encampment, learned that the 
army was to pull stakes and cross the river at 
daybreak and press forward to join Curtis at 
Lebanon. 

In front of the company mess tent, the com- 
pany officers’ servant, a sleek, voluble, northern 
darkey, especially attached to the service of the 
Captain, and who, in fact, had accompanied that 
168 


A NIGHT ADVENTURE 16d 

officer to the front, soon had a big camp-fire 
blazing and crackling for the benefit of Sammy 
and his strange and unexpected guest. They 
were both chilled to the marrow, and the grate- 
ful warmth of the leaping flames was as good 
to them as water to the thirsty or as manna to 
the starving; and when the delicious warmth was 
followed by the gracious, appetizing odor of 
broiling bacon and bubbling coffee, a homey, 
comforting, dreamy languor of utter content 
stole over Sammy’s senses, such as he had not 
known since that memorable day when the 
Eighteenth marched away with colors flying, 
bands playing, crowds cheering. If the presence 
of the sober-faced, rather frightened, but plucky, 
sweet-eyed girl in the wet, drooping, print gown, 
did not have somewhat to do with this new feel- 
ing of rest, at least it did not detract from it. 
Even the simmering and sputtering of the water- 
soaked sticks thrown into the glowing heart of 
the fire, there to dry and finally to burn, had a 
soothing sound, and the gloomy, darkening sky, 
now almost black against the gleaming sparks 
shooting upward, seemed to shut them in from 
war and the terrors that haunt its beginning and 
stalk in its wake. Presently, as Sammy stared 
dreamily into the red coals, or indolently watched 
the efficient darkey deftly transfer strips of 
smoking, dripping bacon from the point of a long 


170 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


green stick to the plate, a figure sauntered into 
the mellow glow of the camp-fire from the gloom 
of the shadows without, the stocky figure of a 
private soldier, the figure of Zack. He did not 
accost his superior — it was as if he had not seen 
him. He warmed his hands by the fire a moment, 
and then walked unconcernedly away, back into 
the darkness. But before he disappeared from 
the circle of light, he slipped something into the 
servant’s hands, something clumsily wrapped in 
paper. There was nothing showing that might 
in any way betray the secret of the contents of 
the package. The darkey unwrapped it curi- 
ously, while Sammy looked on with twinkling 
eyes of intuitive understanding, and then with a 
knowing wink held it out for the Lieutenant to 
see. It was a piece of fresh pork. 

“ I ought to report the rascal,” said Sammy, 
shaking his head dubiously over the treasure dis- 
played in the colored man’s outstretched hands, 
“ but I do n’t see how I can. I have n’t the heart. 
What would you do, Miss Brown? ” 

“ I ’d eat the pork,” said Sara, so promptly 
that Sammy laughed. 

“ That advice is even sounder and more to the 
point than was Mr. Dick’s famous reply to Bet- 
sey Trotwood when she asked him what she 
should do with David : ‘ I should wash him.’ No 
sooner said than done — except to allow time for 


A NIGHT ADVENTURE 171 


the cooking. Trot out the frying pan, LeRoy! 
If the Captain comes in, we ’ll invite him to the 
feast. And now, Miss Brown, what am I going 
to do with you? ” 

She was ready with her answer. 

“ Let me sit by your fireside till I ’m dry, it 
won’t be long now, your LeRoy has been so gen- 
erous with the wood, give me a sip of your coffee, 
and a bite to eat, and then manage a passport for 
me someway so that I may leave your lines with- 
out being hung as a spy,” she said, smilingly, but 
seriously, too, “ and then I will say good-by 
and — you have been very good to me. I feel 
like a thief taking bread from the very mouths of 
hungry soldiers, but it ’s seven miles to Linn 
where I purpose to spend the night, and — I am 
so hungry. I have n’t eaten anything since break- 
fast, you know. I ’ll try to restrain my appetite, 
which is enormous.” 

“ And will your father find you there? ” he 
asked, gravely. 

Instantly, her face clouded, but she only re- 
plied, thoughtfully: 

“ Some time, of course. I do n’t know how 
soon. He will be very much worried. But I 
couldn’t go home now, could I? Nothing will 
be left there, and our neighbors have all gone 
away.” 

“ You have friends in Linn? ” 


172 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 

She shook her head slowly. 

“ Not close friends — but there will be some 
one to take me in. We have been rather lonely 
since we came to Missouri.” 

After a cozy silence, “ Thank you,*’ she said 
to the negro, LeRoy, with a winning smile, as he 
handed her deferentially a tin plate piled high 
with the best that his culinary genius could pro- 
duce out of his limited stock. Black LeRoy did 
not have to be told, in spite of the storm-stained 
frock and the strangeness of her presence alone 
in an officer’s tent with night coming on, that 
this girl was not one of the ordinary camp fol- 
lowers, those parasitic cancers who abounded 
even in that day of awful stress. 

After supper, Sammy sought the Colonel 
again, and, after narrating in detail the story of 
the day’s adventures and explaining the presence 
of the young woman with his company, he ob- 
tained permission to escort her to Linn, with the 
loan of two horses, providing he would be back 
before the Division moved at daybreak. It was 
a somewhat risky undertaking, fraught with 
much of uncertainty, and the Colonel chafed 
under the awkwardness of the situation, but as 
Linn was at present well within the limits of 
Union protection, with the farming districts 
friendly, bitterly resentful of the recent raids of 
Price’s army, and, also, as Sammy was respect- 


A NIGHT ADVENTURE 173 


fully determined, the harassed regimental com- 
mander finally gave his consent, and Sammy de- 
parted happy. 

Just as they were preparing to slip quietly 
away, it began to rain again, and as Sammy was 
casting about for some better means of protec- 
tion for his charge than her scant shawl afforded, 
there was the ubiquitous Zack stammeringly 
offering his cloak again with somewhat of the 
same feeling of championing those whom Sammy 
favored as prompted him to choose little Mary 
Ann Hamilton first at that long ago spelling 
match. Sara accepted the courtesy and the as- 
sured comfort as well graciously. 

“ Thank you, Mr. Zack. I hope I shall see 
you again some day. You won’t forget Mr. Sel- 
vin, will you? I understand you have sort of 
adopted him. Lieutenant Goodman will bring 
back your coat. Good-by.” 

The roads were execrable. The horses, en- 
cumbered only with their riders, fared little 
better than had those with the heavily loaded 
wagons earlier in the afternoon. The dark had 
settled down like a blanket, smothering in its 
dense impenetrability, and the fine stinging rain 
smote their faces with an icy sharpness. Talk- 
ing, under the circumstances, required too great 
an effort to be indulged in to any extent, and, 
after a few desultory remarks now and then, 


174 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


they relapsed into silence when nothing was to 
be heard but the beat of the wind, the swish of the 
rain, and the splash of the horses’ hoofs through 
the wet, muddy roads, as they threaded the black 
night. 

“ I think we must be nearly to the creek,” said 
Sara, when they had ridden in one of these 
silences for what seemed an interminable length 
of time. “We have to ford it. There has never 
been a bridge, but the water will be high after 
these rains. Are the horses reliable? ” 

“ They are army horses — poor things,” re- 
plied Sammy, commiseratingly. “ If experience 
counts for anything, trust them for anything 
short of the ocean or the frozen summits of Mont 
Blanc.” 

“ It ’s not very far from home,” said Sara, 
wistfully. “ I wish we might go around that way 
and see if father is there.” 

“ The Colonel’s orders are very strict,” re- 
joined Sammy, regretfully. “No side issues 
and camp by daylight. If the roads keep on 
getting worse as they have been all the way, I 
have n’t a moment to lose.” 

They had proceeded but a short distance 
farther, when, from out the darkness somewhere, 
unbeatable because of the black nothingness of 
all else, even directions, came the sound of 
voices, subdued yet unmistakably human voices. 


A NIGHT ADVENTURE 175 


“ It sounds as if they were at the ford,” whis- 
pered Sara, a little catch of apprehension in her 
voice. 

“Now, could it be those Guerrillas again?” 
muttered Sammy, more to himself than to his 
companion. “ Waiting until daylight to cross 
the creek? To be sure, we might have known 
they would n’t cross the river ahead of our army. 
They will come afterward — like vultures. We 
could n’t have missed the road, could we? ” 

Presently a light flickered forth in the dark- 
ness, just a tiny gleam, and it shone as if through 
trees or underbrush, but it was a stationary light. 
It flickered and danced and smoldered at the 
sport of the wind and rain, but it did not move 
to and fro as would a lantern or a torch. It was 
plainly a camp fire. 

“ They are going to camp there for the night,” 
whispered Sammy. “ That settles it as far as we 
are concerned, I’m afraid. We couldn’t pick 
another crossing in the night. It ’s blacker than 
a stack of black cats. You must be acquainted 
somewhat hereabouts. Is n’t there some one with 
whom you could stay over night and who would 
see you safely to Linn in the morning? ” 

“ The Blackburns live over to our right a ways, 
but we ’ll have to go back a mile or two, as I re- 
member, to take the cross-road.” 

“ We will go there then; but first, let me make 


176 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 

sure that it is necessary ~ that they are not 
friends. Do n’t move — hold my horse steady — 
there are doubtless pickets. Whatever you do, 
be still! ” 

He slipped cautiously from his horse and crept 
noiselessly forward straight toward the yellow 
gleam yonder in the darkness. That was a bad 
moment for Sara Brown, surrounded by the 
black night, the stinging storm, enemies, and 
armies; behind her, a razed homestead; before 
her, what? And she was alone in it all. What 
would happen to her if Lieutenant Goodman did 
not come back? But Sammy was not gone long, 
and her relief was intense when she felt rather 
than saw him swing silently into the saddle. 

“ We must go back,” he whispered, his hand on 
her bridle rein to guide the reversed order of 
things. “We won’t even whisper any more. 
Voices are the very dickens for carrying.” 

When they arrived at the Blackburn farm, a 
light was shining through the blinds of the front 
windows indicating the presence of some one 
who had not yet retired for the night. They dis- 
mounted and Sammy crept cautiously up to the 
windows, but the blinds were drawn close and he 
could see nothing. 

“ I am sure it is all right; some of the family 
are at home,” said Sara, in a low voice, her face 
showing white with fatigue through the dim sug- 


A NIGHT ADVENTURE 


177 


gestion of light filtering through the curtained 
window. “ I am going to knock at the door now. 
I know they will take me in.” 

But Sammy forestalled her intention by push- 
ing her gently behind him, the soldier’s instinct 
prescribing caution even in the house of friends. 
If there should be unsuspected trouble, his to 
bear the brunt of it, not this gentle girl’s who 
had come to rely upon him since that first dis- 
trust which had carried her on swift feet to the 
cellar. He rapped lightly. 

“ Who is there? ” a low voice responded. 

“ It is I, Sara Brown, Mr. Blackburn,” the girl 
called, clearly, stepping forward, and Sammy 
gave way, assuming that she had recognized the 
voice. “ Won’t you let me in? So much has 
happened — ” 

The door opened before she had finished her 
sentence, and, with a piercing scream, Sara 
cowered back and then sank unconscious into 
Sammy’s ready arms. Hank Halstead and a 
number of other men stood in the lighted interior 
with revolvers leveled at the door. 

“ Come right in, Miss Brown. Glad ter see 
you. Come right in, I say. Do n ? t hold it agin 
me ’cause I did n’t git your horse like I promised. 
I was — unavoidably detained, eh, Sammy? 
Come in ter our hospitable home, both o’ you.” 

Without an instant’s hesitation, Sammy 


178 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 

stepped over the threshold carrying Sara in his 
arms. There was a bed in one corner of the 
room, four-posted, high with its voluminous 
feather-tick, immaculately clean and tidy as be- 
fitted a “ settin’ room ” bed, covered with a closely 
quilted, patch-work counterpane, and here he 
laid his burden. 

“ Bring some water, somebody, she has 
fainted! ” he ordered, and Hank himself hurried 
foward with a brimming dipper. 

“ Poor little girl/’ whispered Sammy, softly, 
paying no more attention to the grinning faces 
surrounding them than if he and Sara had been 
alone in the universe. “ It is awful to be a 
woman in war time. You have been so brave all 
day. I wonder you stood the strain so long. 
Poor little girl, poor little girl.” He was smooth- 
ing her forehead gently, caressingly, as he spoke, 
pushing back the rain-wet hair from the closed 
eyes. 

Presently, she opened them and looked up into 
his face for a moment as if trying to recollect 
something. 

“ What is it, Sammy,” she whispered, inquir- 
ingly, like a child, her hand clutching his coat 
sleeve in the vague fear of the unknown, and 
then, as he would have soothed her, she gave a 
little frightened gasp of understanding. “ Oh, 
do n’t leave me,” she begged, in terror. “ Do n’t 


A NIGHT ADVENTURE 179 


leave me with those dreadful men! The Colonel 
will forgive you when you tell him how all alone 
I was.” 

“ You need not be afraid that I will leave you 
here alone,” Sammy promised, unconscious of 
the grim irony of the assurance in his desire to 
comfort her ; and then to further calm her terror, 
he asked, smilingly, still absolutely ignoring the 
presence of the Guerrillas, “ How did you know 
that my name was Sammy? That is what they 
call me back in Indiana.” 

“ I think I must have heard someone call you 
that — your friend, Zack, most likely, or maybe 
that Guerrilla leader, he seems to know you. 
Forgive me — I did not think what I was say- 
ing.” 

At that moment, a man hurried into the room 
from outside and the rest, who had relaxed their 
vigilance and were lounging carelessly about 
when it had been ascertained beyond doubt that 
the young infantry lieutenant and the girl were 
really alone, hastily secured their arms and 
sprang to attention. 

“ What is it, Dan? ” asked Hank, quickly. 

“ A company of Union soldiers on the road 
coming this way. They are distant not more 
than a half mile.” 

“ Cavalry or infantry? ” 

“ Cavalry.” 


180 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


“ Then we have n’t a minute to lose. Fellows, 
what shall we do with the prisoners? The Feds 
won’t stay long when they find nobody here and 
rations all et up even to skins and bones. What 
oP Blackburn did n’t make way with his ownse’f 
before his sudden call to leave the kentry by 
polite invitation, we managed to dispose of our 
ownse’ves. Here, boys, bind these here prisoners 
and gag ’em and put ’em down cellar. They ’ll 
be safe if you ’re pertic’lar ’bout the gags.” 

His instructions were carried out to the letter, 
while Sammy looked on in helpless rage, chafing 
sorely under the restraint of honor — honor to 
his country and honor to an unprotected daugh- 
ter of his country — which forbade his pursuing 
his private quarrel with this man and leaping at 
his throat, regardless of consequences to him- 
self if only the fiend in human shape who had 
put out the life of Gerry Goodman might writhe 
in the dust and die. 

“ All ’s fair in war, ye know, Sammy,” said 
Hank, with an atrocious grin, as the gagged and 
bound young man was being borne to the now 
open and waiting trap in the floor, “ and I do n’t 
hold it agin you that you knocked me down over 
yander to old man Brown’s and left me. I ’low 
I ’d o’ done the same to you if I ’d o’ had the 
chanct — like I ’m a-doin’ now. Bye, bye, 
Sammy, we won’t be gone long! ” 



Sammy looked on in helpless rage 












































J 

























\ m i Si |i* 









































- 


























A NIGHT ADVENTURE 


181 


Lying side by side on the damp and musty 
floor of the dark cellar, Sammy and Sara could 
hear the shuffling of feet overhead as the men 
hurriedly left the house, and then the muffled 
beat of hoofs as they rode away, the sound grad- 
ually growing fainter and fainter until it could 
no longer be distinguished from the soughing of 
the wind so that they did not know when they 
ceased to hear it. For Sara, there followed a 
moment of blank despair, but Sammy’s heart was 
thrilling high with hope. Surely, surely, there 
would be some way of acquainting those Federal 
cavalrymen of their presence in the supposedly 
deserted house. He racked his brain in the ef- 
fort to think of a way, never ceasing for a 
moment, meanwhile, his laborious attempts to 
loosen his gag or the rope that manacled his 
hands and feet; and while he worked, there came 
the clatter of hoof beats which came to an or- 
derly halt outside the door. A number of men 
dismounted and entered the house. 

“ Hello! Hello! Anybody here? ” some one 
of them called out. “ If there is, he evidently 
does n’t intend to say anything about it. Con- 
found it, it is as dark as Egypt in here! ” 

The Guerrillas had evidently extinguished the 
light before riding away, but the soldiers must 
have succeeded in securing one for soon the same 
voice continued: 


182 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


“ From the looks of things, somebody has been 
here very recently, but, also, from the looks of 
things, I see no chance of getting anything to 
eat either for man or beast, so we might as well 
move on.” 

Sammy’s heart sank within him at the words, 
and as the men left the house, he grew desperate 
and tugged and strained with all the strength 
he possessed. He realized that the Guerrillas 
would return as soon as the soldiers were far 
enough away to insure safety for such a pro- 
cedure; and he knew further that with Hank 
Halstead as leader neither he nor Sara need hope 
to be treated with even the ordinary decency of 
prisoners of war. In the first place, the Guer- 
rilla bands were accountable to no one — their 
own will was their own law. In the next place, 
he felt that Hank Halstead would consider no 
atrocity too low for him to resort to in order not 
only to put out of the way enemies of the south- 
ern cause, but to silence effectually that past 
which had been in such imminent danger of 
speaking out loud ever since the unexpected en- 
counter at the Browns’ front door. A cold sweat 
broke out all over his body. He was so helpless, 
so helpless, and the girl whom he had taken in 
and fed and warmed and comforted at his own 
fireside was — so sweet. Was there nothing he 
could do for her? Must she suffer all of it — all 


A NIGHT ADVENTURE 188 


— ah, God, the thought was not to be endured. 
He thought of Mollie and the little Ama Jane, 
and how their lives had been shadowed for all 
time by the same murderous hand which now 
threatened this other girl who had come into 
his life. When the sound of the last faint hoof- 
beat had died away in the distance, he made one 
last frantic effort to tear himself loose from the 
thongs that bound him — only to fall back weak 
and panting from exhaustion, helpless, hopeless, 
despairing utterly. 

How long he lay there, he never knew, but it 
could not have been very long, for when once 
more he was roused from that lethargy of weak- 
ness and exhaustion by the insistent repetition of 
the sub-conscious thought that the so-called bush- 
whackers might return at any moment, there was 
still no sound of their coming. He had been 
granted a short reprieve in which to think — 
to think — to think — if only — perhaps he 
might — . He wormed himself around until he 
could rest his head on the first step of the rude 
stairway and experienced a faint thrill of hope. 
If only they would stay away awhile longer — 
just a little while! He rubbed the back of his 
head back and forth across the edge of the step, 
back and forth, back and forth, until he was dizzy 
and sick from the exertion; but at last, to his 
great joy, he felt the bandage begin to loosen, 


184 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 

and finally it slipped down from his mouth. In 
a voice of passionate relief, he whispered what 
he had done and told Sara to be of good cheer 
and to hope on. He next wormed himself over 
toward her, whispering to her to lie on her side 
with her back toward him, and succeeded, by al- 
most superhuman effort, in undoing with his 
teeth the knot which bound her hands, straining 
every faculty of hearing, meanwhile, in listening 
for returning hoof -beats to sound through the 
deadening rain and sleet. At his direction, she 
then felt quickly in his pocket and secured his 
jack-knife. The rest was easy. In a moment, 
they were free, cold and cramped and unsteady, 
but free with the blessed freedom of hands and 
feet and voice. 

With all the haste compatible with their 
cramped condition, they climbed the rickety stairs 
and fled to the out-of-doors. Their horses, of 
course, were gone; but they themselves were un- 
fettered, and out where the night was very dark 
and the world very large, and Sammy’s soul sang 
an exultant Te Deum. 

“ There is another family a mile or so up the 
road,” whispered Sara, “ with whom I could stay 
unless they, too, have fled the country.” 

“ You are so tired! ” murmured Sammy. 

“Not any more — not out-doors,” insisted 
Sara, pluckily, so they started up the road. 


A NIGHT ADVENTURE 185 


They had proceeded but a short distance when 
they were compelled to creep into the deeper 
shadows of the trees bordering the road to let a 
company of horsemen pass by, and they watched 
them silently as they turned into the way leading 
to the house so lately vacated. 

“We didn’t get away from there any too 
soon,” muttered Sammy, and again they hast- 
ened forward. 

To their infinite relief, they found the family 
at home this time and very friendly. Sammy’s 
orders, however, forbade his acceptance of the 
hospitality urged upon him by the good people of 
the house, and he merely lingered long enough to 
assure himself that Sara would be perfectly safe 
and comfortable in her new environment before 
setting out on his return journey. There was 
not a horse left on the place. These had all 
been confiscated either by regular troops or by 
Guerrillas. In this dilemma, Sammy was at a 
loss to know what to do. On foot, he realized 
that his chances for reaching camp by daybreak 
were very slight. But desperate straits demand 
desperate remedial measures. Suddenly, a daring 
thought flashed through his brain. It squared 
his shoulders and lighted his eyes, so that Sara, 
walking to the gate with him to bid him God- 
speed, asked, wonderingly: 

“ What is it? What are you going to do? ” 


186 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


“ Never mind — now. I ’ll tell you some day 

— if I live.” 

At the gate, she slipped out of Zack’s rough 
army cloak, and he took it silently. 

“ Can you manage it? ” she asked, softly, un- 
mindful of the dash of cold rain that drenched 
her. “ I wonder if I could n ? t find a way to send 
it back tomorrow? It will hinder you so. If you 
only had a horse — ” 

“ Do n’t worry about me — Lean manage it,” 
he replied, abruptly. 

“ Good by,” she said, holding out her hand. 
“ Good by, and thank you for — everything. It 
seems such a trivial word, sometimes, doesn’t 
it — thank you — considering that we use it on 
any and every occasion, from saving life to — 
passing the bread. But we have no other, so 

— thank you and good by.” 

He had taken the proffered hand and still held 
it silently. When she would have withdrawn it, 
he drew her to him quickly and kissed her on the 
lips. 

“ Good by,” he said, “ but I shall see you again. 
I am coming back. I will write to you at Linn to 
let you know how Selvin gets along. Good-by! ” 

He looked longingly for a moment down into 
the grave, startled eyes, kissed her again, released 
her, and hurried down the road. When he looked 
back, pulses throbbing riotously, she was still 


A NIGHT ADVENTURE 187 


standing there in the rain and sleet, faintly out- 
lined against the dim glow of light that reached 
her from the open doorway. 

Sammy reasoned that the Guerrillas would 
without doubt jump to the conclusion that the 
soldiers had released the prisoners, but he could 
not know whether or not for other reasons they 
might still linger around the house for any length 
of time. Undoubtedly, they had kept close track 
of the movements of the little troop of cavalry 
and would therefore have no fear of being 
trapped. When he came to the turn in the road, 
he could see a light in the house and hear voices 
outside and the moving of horses. Now was the 
time come to put into execution the wild, exceed- 
ingly hazardous plan which had flashed through 
his mind awhile back, daring all on one bold move 
which would mean everything or nothing, camp 
by daybreak or destruction. 

The house was surrounded by trees, a large 
grove of them, and, slipping from tree to tree so 
as to keep a thick trunk ever between him and 
possible surprise, he crept forward, maintaining a 
sharp outlook all the time for sentinels. Coming 
closer, he could dimly discern horses tied to trees 
and men moving about. Some were on the 
ground holding their horses, others were mounted, 
lounging carelessly in their saddles. As he stood 
motionless, awaiting his chance, scarcely breath- 


188 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


ing in the intensity of his desire to escape notice, 
a man opened the door and a stream of light was 
sent out over the graveled walk. After closing 
the door behind him, the man walked up to one 
of the horses, untied it and mounted, leisurely 
enough and yet with decision, too, and then stood 
as if waiting. It looked to Sammy as if a gen- 
eral move was imminent only awaiting the advent 
of some one, Halstead probably, and he decided 
that he dare not delay longer. He stepped 
quietly but boldly up to one of the horses, un- 
fastened the bridle strap without undue haste, 
and swung into the saddle, gambling on the mere 
chance that if noticed at all in the deep gloom of 
the night, he would be taken merely for a comrade 
mounting his own animal as others were doing, 
the very boldness of the design exempting him 
from suspicion. 

He edged away quietly little by little until 
completely lost in the gloom of the trees and the 
outer dark, and then walked his mount back to 
the main road. Reaching it unobserved, he sud- 
denly spurred up his newly acquired property 
and raced back over the way he and Sara Brown 
had so lately traveled. 

There was a hint of approaching dawn in the 
sky when he reached camp, and the army was 
already in movement, getting ready to cross the 
Osage at daybreak. 


CHAPTER XIII 


SAMMY ACQUIRES JOHN 

I T WAS in the air — battle. Sammy felt it, 
Zack felt it, Curtis’s whole army felt it. Many 
times before had they thought real fighting was 
imminent during the long, fragmentary, disap- 
pointing, cruelly wearisome campaign in pursuit 
of Price; but this was different, somehow. Then 
they had merely thought; now they felt. Ap- 
parently, to the rank and file at least, there were 
no more indications of an approaching fierce 
struggle than there had been divers times before; 
and yet, there it was — sobering men’s faces, 
filling their pockets with loving letters to the 
folks at home, just in case it should come, with- 
out warning, when there might be no more time. 
The War of the Rebellion was too young then 
for the soldiers to laugh and jest with death on 
the eve of battle as more seasoned veterans would 
have done — as they themselves did later on. 
There it was — the prescience — with no more 
reason for it than that the air was surcharged 
with it, and the men could no more escape the 
infection than they could help breathing in the 
189 


190 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


air that harbored it. And yet when it came — 
Pea Ridge — it came as a surprise. The way of 
it and the time of it and the place of it were 
not as any one had thought or planned. How 
they had longed for it — all those splendid young 
volunteers assigned to the Army of the South- 
west! None more than the Eighteenth Indi- 
ana ! No one more than First Lieutenant Samuel 
Goodman of Company E! Sitting in a small 
blacksmith shop, however, three miles to the 
south of camp, in charge of a picket guarding 
the telegraph road, in momentary expectation of 
being gobbled up, Sammy was not so eager for 
the approach of the enemy as he had been. 

They had driven Price from Springfield and 
had forced him back upon the boasted rebel 
stronghold of Cross Hollows with scarcely more 
than a complimentary exchange of shots between 
their advance and the Confederate rear guard 
protecting Price’s retreat. The pet plan of com- 
pelling Price to resign all hope of bagging Mis- 
souri into the net of Secession by driving him 
from the state was accomplished. By a masterly 
flank movement, they had even compelled the 
Confederates to vacate that supposedly impreg- 
nable position at Cross Hollows — and the men 
had so counted on a big, decisive battle there! 
When Curtis decided that it would not be pru- 
dent to pursue Price into the Boston Mountains, 


SAMMY ACQUIRES JOHN 191 


Davis’s Division had been ordered to move back 
to Sugar Creek, a distance of about twenty miles. 
Here was the telegraph road which must be held 
in order that communication might be main- 
tained with Springfield and Rolla and over which 
supplies must come, besides being the line of re- 
treat if retreat were necessary. Two or three 
days later. General Van Dorn took command 
of the rebel forces, and on March fourth, Gen- 
eral Curtis learned that he had concentrated 
many of the scattered Confederates and was 
marching to meet him. General Curtis immedi- 
ately sent orders to all his outlying troops, scat- 
tered many miles apart in order to subsist in so 
far as possible on the country, to concentrate at 
Sugar Creek, and he himself hastened thither 
with General Carr’s Division. 

It was the morning before his arrival that 
Sammy was sent out on picket duty in command 
of fifty men. An unconscionable distance it was, 
too, three miles from camp. It made the shivers 
run down his back to think of it — all the more 
so on account of that prescient battle atmos- 
phere pervading the whole army. The only cav- 
alry with Davis’s Division was the First Missouri, 
with Curtis somewhere in the neighborhood 
of Cross Hollows, which had necessitated the 
throwing out of the infantry picket line at this 
unusual distance from camp, there being no 


192 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


vedettes to patrol the outer reaches. Sammy, still 
nervously conscious of disagreeable, premonitory 
shivers down his back, established his headquar- 
ters at a small country blacksmith shop just west 
of the main road and across from a farmhouse. 
The road ran through a field comprising twenty 
or thirty acres, on every side of which was thick 
forest. To the left, was rough, broken land bor- 
dering Sugar Creek Ravine; a mile or so to the 
right was the Bentonville road, and to picket the 
distance between, nearly a mile, was Sammy’s 
duty. 

He threw out his men on duty line just south of 
the clearing, on both sides of the road; dividing 
the reserves so that the outstanding pickets would 
be relieved every two hours, as usual. When 
evening approached, he retired to the dull glow 
of the fire builded in the forge of the deserted 
blacksmith shop, there to wait and dream the 
night away in the waking dreams which, when 
day comes, seem even more unreal and fantastic 
than real dreams, those airy children of legitimate 
slumber. It was snowing again — it almost 
seemed as if one might say it was still snowing — 
a cold, clinging, spring snow that fell steadily 
all the night long from an inky sky. It was 
a harsh night for under-fed and under-clothed 
soldiers, exhausted from their long, wearisome 
campaign, with only the meagre comforts of a 


SAMMY ACQUIRES JOHN 193 


resourceless camp at the tail end of a trying 
campaign; for the solitary men arduously pa- 
trolling the rough, broken wooded line between 
Sugar Creek and the Bentonville road, it was 
cruel. Even the bluffs adjoining Sugar Creek 
were densely tree-studded, and so much heavy 
timber engendered a curious, trapped feeling, 
so that one was conscious of fostering a fierce 
desire to thrash one’s arms out and break away 
— just to see if one could. Even to Sammy, 
woods born and bred, such an impulse came, 
though he laughed it away. He was conscious 
of an odd, stifled sensation, which reminded him 
of a night when he and Zack were boys and a 
ghost had walked the woods at home. 

It was as if the ghosts of all who had already 
died for the southern cause were met to jeer at 
the lonely, slender young fellow sitting in the 
gloomy, weather-beaten, deserted shop, in the 
dead of night, away down in the heart of the 
enemy’s country, while they waited in gloating 
glee for the first tramp, tramp, tramp, of the 
mighty, reinforced armies of Van Dorn. Count- 
less times, Sammy imagined that sound during 
the seemingly endless night, well knowing that 
if the rebel horde did come marching up the road 
from the south, the chances were all too sure that 
rebel cavalry would cut off the retreat and gob- 
ble up the little command before it had time to 


194 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


fire once and die. All, well, that was a picket’s 
duty — to give warning to the encamped army 
of the approach of the enemy — to shoot and 
run — and if grim fate decreed shoot and die; so 
be it, if only all might be well with the army. 
It could never be said of the death of a picket, 
however obscure and unknown, that it was the 
death of a coward or a deserter. It would be a 
lonely death, and it was man’s little weakness to 
want to die, if die he must, in the thick of the 
fight where the roar of the cannon, the blur of 
smoke, the surge of men — his fellows — and 
the glimpse of the colors through rifts in the 
enveloping, low-lying, pungent powder smoke, 
crowned him with the inestimable gifts of the bat- 
tle madness; so that physical dread was swal- 
lowed up in a strange exaltation of spirit. That 
was the glory of war, as old man Carmichael had 
so often and so glowingly portrayed it to the 
thrilled hearts of boys gathered around the fire- 
place of a winter’s night. It was one with the 
“ pomp and circumstance ” of war, of which the 
cheers of the multitude, the beating of drums, 
and the fluttering of flags and handkerchiefs had 
played so important a part when the boys 
marched away to the front. But the lonely death 
of a lonely picket when fear had stalked by his 
side all the lonely night through — that was one 
with real war, naked, ugly war, a part with the 


SAMMY ACQUIRES JOHN 195 


screams of the frightfully wounded, the heart- 
clutching jabbering of the fever-stricken or the 
pain-and-thirsty-mad, the pitiful moaning of the 
dying, the awful quiet of the dead; and that is 
the side of war which abides longest in the 
thoughts of a picket. But, after all, Sammy’s 
thoughts ran on, it would be no lonelier a death, 
perhaps, than Gerry Goodman had been called 
upon to endure — and all death is lonely 
enough; one meets it alone, and one goes out with 
it alone. 

Again and yet again, gazing into the dull fire 
with sombre eyes, listening to the soft, continu- 
ous pelting of the snow against the dim and dirty 
window frames, while idle anvil and hammer, 
odd wheels, piles of rusty horse shoes, and empty 
kegs, rising dimly out of the gloom, presented 
strange and fantastic shapes, his mind dwelt on 
thoughts of the cold, hungry, weary, and soli- 
tary boys out on that lonely picket line, tramp- 
ing back and forth, back and forth, back and 
forth, over the rough ground, no fire for warmth 
or cheer, no companion but the pitiless night. 
From them and him and their plight if the re- 
ported concentrated armies of the South did 
come that night, his thoughts wandered to the 
probable fate of the army under such a condition. 
A mere fraction of an army it was, not more 
than ten thousand men in all, perhaps, right in 


196 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


the midst of the enemy’s country, one road only 
open to relief, retreat, or supplies, a devastated 
and starved region round about, army-ridden 
and plucked until mule steak threatened to be- 
come a popular delicacy. Rumor, aided and 
abetted by imagination, pictured an overwhelm- 
ing force steadily marching up the road from 
the South. Poor little army of the Southwest! 
Suppose Davis could not hold the telegraph road 
till Curtis came in the morning! It would be 
cut off, trapped, surrounded, swallowed up, lit- 
erally shot to pieces and left to rot in this God- 
forsaken pocket of the enemy’s country. And 
then he thought of the folks at home, of his toil- 
worn and saddened mother, of the little sisters 
patiently doing his chores and Herbert’s of a 
cold, gray morning before the sun was up or by 
lantern light of a night of early dark, and of 
how they must keep on doing them forever and 
forever if Herbert and he never came back, and 
he thought of that splendid big brother, an army 
surgeon now, fulfilling his high calling some- 
where out at the front. 

A little past midnight, he was called out upon 
the line. It was nearly time for a change of 
shift. The sentinel was weary-eyed and pinched 
with cold but he had not slept at his post. He 
was greatly excited and Sammjr experienced a 
momentary heart-throb of apprehension. The 


SAMMY ACQUIRES JOHN 197 


man acted as if he had halted the advance guard 
of the whole rebel army. He explained that he 
had heard nothing, seen nothing, had no warning 
whatsoever of the approach of any living crea- 
ture until this nigger boy had risen like a spectre 
in his path so suddenly and unexpectedly that 
he had nearly stumbled over him. The boy could 
not give the countersign, and he had called the 
corporal of the guard, who, in turn, could get 
no satisfaction out of the trembling culprit more 
than the oft-repeated and stumbling statement 
that he had something to tell, so they had con- 
sidered it a matter for the Officer of the Guard’s 
personal attention. 

It was not unusual for colored people, even 
at that early date, to flock to the Union armies 
for protection and the hope of freedom, glori- 
ously unhampered by any fear or fret of tomor- 
row’s bread, deeply distilled in the faith that “ de 
Linkum sogers ” could and would do anything; 
but this stealing up in the dead of night of one 
solitary, shivering, speechless, not yet grown lad 
of seventeen years or thereabouts was unusual to 
say the least. Most of his kind had been delight- 
fully frank, airily unconcerned over questions 
of the wherewithal to feed and clothe and house 
this troublesome swelling of numbers with no 
corresponding gain in fighting power, to say 
nothing of possible qualms as to harboring 


198 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


runaway slaves in contempt of property rights, 
communicative to garrulity, touchingly unafraid 
and trusting. This boy was seemingly secretive, 
unfriendly, afraid. But Sammy, noting the 
slightness of the thinly clad, shivering form 
standing just beyond the point of the sentry’s 
bayonet, relented toward him somewhat for be- 
ing the direct cause of his being routed out on 
such a bitter night on what would doubtless prove 
to be but a wild goose chase. 

“ Poor devil,” he said, commiseratingly, in an 
undertone. “ He does n’t look very dangerous.” 

Aloud, he demanded, more sharply than he 
felt, “ What are you doing here at this time of 
night? ” and the boy sensed the authority at once 
and met it with the unquestioning docility of his 
race. 

“ Please, sah, I ’s run away.” 

“ Run away? And from whom? ” 

“ From de ’Fed’rate Army, please, sah.” 

“ Where was the Confederate Army? ” 

The boy hesitated. “ Is you de Gineral? ” he 
asked, at last, looking artlessly up into Sammy’s 
face. 

“ General who?” Sammy counter-questioned. 

“ De Gineral ob de Union Army? ” 

“ Why, no, J ohn — if that is n’t your name, 
it ’ll do as well as any, I reckon, for the present, 
anyway — I regret to have to tell you that I am 


SAMMY ACQUIRES JOHN 199 


not the General of the Union Army, but I am in 
command of a very small part of it tonight and 
you may tell me your troubles freely. In fact, 
you must tell me why you were sneaking through 
the Union lines at this time of night.” 

“ Bress de Lawd, you is a Linkum soger, 
then,” exclaimed the boy, with an unmistakable 
note of relief in his voice. “ I thort I must hab 
come that fur. I ’s come a right smart ways, 
please, sah, Marse Gineral, I has dat. I ’s most 
wored mah shoes off, but that ain’t nothin’ if 
I ’s foun’ you at last.” 

“ Then tell me how far you have come, and 
where you started from,”- said Sammy. 

“ Yes, sah, Marse Gineral,” said the lad, sub- 
missively, his teeth chattering with the cold. 
“ I ’s done run away from Gineral McIn- 
tosh’s army.” 

Sammy started, then he laid his hand eagerly 
on the negro’s shoulder. “ Come with me to the 
fire, John. I want to talk to you some more and 
you are pretty cold, aren’t you? ” He grasped 
the young fellow firmly by the arm and led him 
back to the shelter of the little shop, the lad 
stumbling over the dark, rough way as if un- 
willing to go, but he was only spent with faint- 
ness and fatigue as Sammy realized with a shock 
of pity when the firelight on the forge revealed 
the gray wanness of the thin, dark face. 


200 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


“ Are you hungiy, John? ” he asked, quickly. 

The boy had dropped to the floor as if dead, 
and lay crouching before the fire, while the snow 
which he had brought in on his garments rapidly 
melted into dirty little pools of water beside him. 

“ YeSj sah, please, sah, Marse Gineral, I is,” 
he said, a light leaping into the soft, brown 
eyes. 

“ Well, John,” said Sammy, with a humorous 
sigh as he surveyed a bit of the rindy heel of a 
side of bacon and a handful of parched corn 
which he had fished up from somewhere, “ it 
is n’t much, but such as it is, you are welcome to 
— my breakfast. Eat, drink, and be merry, for 
tomorrow we may die — and in God’s truth, 
that ’s no lie, either. Here ’s a sup of coffee left 
in the pot. I had it on the fire to keep me from 
sleeping too soundly. Drink it boy, and do n’t 
quibble about it. I want you to get on with your 
story.” 

“ ’Deed and ’deedy, sah, Marse Gineral,” 
stammered the boy, sobbingly, “ I cain’t take 
you-all’s breakfast — ’deed I cain’t. I ’s done 
waited a long time already and I kin wait a while 
longer — ’deed I kin. I ’s used to it — ’deed I 
is.” 

“Eat, I say!” commanded Sammy, shortly, 
to cover some natural emotion at sight of the 
boy’s starved condition. “ I can wait, too, I 


SAMMY ACQUIRES JOHN 201 


reckon, and the rest of the men won’t see me 
starve. They ’ll diyvy up when the time comes. 
Now, eat! ” 

Thus adjured, the negro ate greedily of the 
bacon and the corn and drank the coffee — 
Sammy’s proposed breakfast — and if the young 
officer watched, ruefully, the last burnt kernel slip 
down the ravenous throat, at least it was not 
grudgingly. When the last bit had disappeared, 
the boy folded his arms across his stomach as if he 
had been filled to repletion, and then looked up 
gratefully, adoringly, prepared and eager to tell 
all he knew if only he might win a smile or a 
word of satisfaction or commendation from “ de 
Gineral ob de Linkum sogers.” 

“ I ’s done runned away from Gineral McIn- 
tosh’s army, please, sah, Marse Gineral. I be- 
longed to Marse Medburton and I done stayed 
by him twel he died from de fever. He was a 
cunnel in de army, leastways dat is what dey-all 
call him, Cunnel Medburton ob de Gineral’s staff 
— Gineral McIntosh’s own staff — and de Gin- 
eral he sot a heap o’ store by mah oY Marse, too. 
You see, dey all fit togedder down in Texas 
aginst dem ar Mex’cans, and hit seemed like as 
if dat ar fact made ’em kind o’ related like, sames 
if dey was kin. When Marse Medburton he daid, 
I done runned away. He ain’t need no body serv- 
ant no mo’ and I was a-f eared to stay with any 


202 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


o’ de yudders, and I did n’t dast to let ’em send 
me back home case I knowed I ’d never git so 
dost agin to de Linkum sogers. I hearn Marse 
Medburton talkin’ ’bout de proxinimity o’ you- 
all, and I ’s boun’ to git heah sooner or later case 
why you-all is a-fightin’ fer we-all culled folks 
and I ’s boun ? to he’p you all I kin. I knowed 
you-all was our frien’s case I done hearn Marse 
Medburton say a heap o’ times that you-all was 
gwine set all de niggers free if you ever got a 
chance, which would n’t be twel he and all like 
he were daid and in de groun’. He daid now so 
mebbe ’t won’t be long now twel we-all is free. 
Marse Medburton, he were good to me — I’d a 
stayed with ol’ Marse if he had n’t died. Marse 
couldn’t git along without dis heah nigger, no- 
how. But I ’s a-feared o’ de yudders and ’sides 
I ’s boun’ to fin’ de Linkum sogers. So heah I 
is,” he concluded, ingenuously. 

“ When did you leave the army, John? ” asked 
Sammy. 

“ Day befo’ yistiddy way long in de night,” 
responded John, unhesitatingly. “ I snuck away 
without nothin’ to eat case why I ’s a-feared to 
ask fer any, thinkin’ mebbe they ’d suspicion I 
was plannin’ on runnin’ away, and I did n’t dast 
to steal any case things to eat is powerful sca’ce 
as you knows on, I reckon, though ol’ Marse al- 
ters did say de Linkum sogers was livin’ on de 


SAMMY ACQUIRES JOHN 208 

fat o’ de Ian’ — and dey ’d hab missed de vit- 
tals and sent after me fer sho’. Marse he allers 
said I was a powerful good han’ at knockin’ a 
meal togedder out o’ nothin’ and he allers gib 
me somethin’ if he had anything his own se’f. He 
was allers good to me, Marse was, but now he ’s 
daid, I ’s boun’ to fin’ de Linkum sogers. If you- 
all will let me stay with you, I ’ll tote yo’ things 
fer you on de march and cook yo’ meals and 
take keer on you if you gits de fever — ” 

“ And leave me when I ’m ‘ daid,’ eh, John? ” 
interrupted Sammy, whimsically. 

“ Not twel you ’s in de groun’, please, sah, 
Marse Gineral. I ’d tote you home to yo’ mud- 
der and den I ’d come back to de army and fight 
— if they ’d let me,” replied John, earnestly. 

“ Well, I hope I won’t have to put you to the 
test very soon,” said Sammy, with a smile, “but 
remember I am depending upon you to do that 
very thing — some day. Now, you must have 
come a long way if you started day before yes- 
terday? ” 

“ Yes, sah, please, sah, Marse Gineral, least- 
ways hit seemed a right smart ob a ways ; but I ’s 
a-feared so I done hided ever onct in a while un- 
der de bushes, and I done slep’ some, too.” 

“ About how many miles do you think you 
might have come? ” 

“ I don’ know, Marse Gineral — mebbe fifty ( 


204 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


— mebbe two, three hundred — how’d I keep 
count creepin’ under de bushes, and through de 
fences, and ’cross de fiel’s? ” 

“ Where was your army encamped? ” 

“ I don’ know, Marse Gineral.” 

“ Look here! ” cried Sammy, sharply. “ You 
are n’t fooling with me, are you, John? You ’d 
better not! Why is it that you do n’t know any- 
thing all of a sudden? ” 

“ Hones’ to goodness, Marse Gineral, I is n’t 
foolin’ ’t all,” cried the boy, earnestly. “ I don’ 
know nothin’ ’bout where we was or how fur we 
come — I only know I ’s boun’ to fin’ you-all and 
he’p along the cornin’ o’ the jubilee all I could. 
I did n’ res’ no mo ’n I fa’rly had to, and when I 
thort I was bein’ follered, I hided. I was boun’ 
to find you-all befo’ Gineral McIntosh did.” 

“ Now, you ’re talking, John! So McIntosh’s 
army is marching this way is it? ” 

“ Yes, sah, Marse Gineral, soon ’s dey-all con- 
juncted, dey started dis yer way.” 

“ Who ‘ conjuncted? ’ ” asked Sammy. 

“ Why, dar was Gineral McCullough and Gin- 
eral McIntosh with all dem ar Texans, and den 
dar was Gineral Pike with all dem wild Injuns 
from somewhar what dey-all called de Injun 
Nation, and dar was Gineral Price what dey-all 
sayed done run away from you-all, and den dar 
was Gineral Van Dorn — he done corned from 


SAMMY ACQUIRES JOHN 205 

Richmon’ or some place way on de yudder side 
o’ de Mississippi. He ’s de big Gineral. I hearn 
’em talkin’ ’bout hit while I was holdin’ Marse 
Medburton’s hawse. He would go to see de 
Gineral though de Gineral scolded him mighty 
hard — sayed he looked like a daid man and had 
orter be home and in bed, ’at de Souf could n’t 
spar’ him yit and ain’t he shamed o’ hisse’f? 
Marse were out o’ he haid den with de fever, but 
I jes’ couldn’t keep him in baid — he sho’ was 
possessed. Marse, he done s’lute de Gineral real 
gallant and swung he hat cl’ar to de groun’ and 
sayed to de Gineral, ‘ Dar ’ll be no mo’ foolin’ 
ner practice runs ner bullet holes in coat tails 
when de Texans git dar, Gineral,’ and de Gineral 
he larf and he eye lit up and he sayed, ‘ You is 
right, Cunnel, dar ’ll be no turnin’ de back to de 
enemy when de Texans git dar. We don’ know 
how to do dat. We ain’ never l’arned; and I 
spec’s hits right late to teach us ol’ wah hawses 
sich new tricks like dat-all.’ Den ol’ Marse he 
rode back to de tent and was as gentle as a lamb 
— seems like he min’ were easy now and he could 
res’. I put him to baid and in ’bout a hour he 
were daid. He never knowed nothin’ no mo’ 
after dat. He died out o’ he haid.” 

“ Price with his Missourians, amounting to 
nearly our force, right there,” Sammy communed 
with himself, “ Albert Pike with his Creeks 


206 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 

and his Cherokees, his Chickasaws, and his 
Choctaws, from the Indian Nation, fully five 
thousand of them — confounded outrage to 
make ’em fight, too, when everybody knows 
how mortal much they ’d like to keep out of 
it — they ’ve had a plenty of fighting among 
themselves — fine examples we are to set 
’em at it again — McCullough and McIntosh 
with that horde of dare-devil Texans ; not a man 
under thirty thousand, all told, or I am very 
much mistaken. It begins to look mightily like 
‘ Good-by, old Injy,’ for the Eighteenth, all 
right, and ‘ Good-by, proud world,’ for all of 
Curtis’s little army, I ’m afraid. Now, to get 
this information to General Davis. The fellow 
may be lying, but I think not; anyway, I ’ll let 
Davis decide that for himself. If the boy slept 
and hid a good part of the time, and no telling 
how close they were in the first place, the pesky 
rebs may be right upon us any minute now.” 
The thought made his face grow stern and keen 
again in a moment. “ John,” he asked, crisply, 
“ did you hear anything else about their plans? ” 

“ No, sah, Marse Gineral, dat ’s all I hearn. 
I thort mebbe if I could fin’ de Gineral ob de 
Linkum sogers, he ’d like to know ’bout all dem 
Ginerals being done conjuncted.” 

“ I think he would like to know about it, John,” 
said Sammy, rising to arouse a sleeping sergeant. 


SAMMY ACQUIRES JOHN 207 


“ and I am going to give you the opportunity 
to tell him about it yourself. Sergeant Jameson 
will show you the way. Be a good boy, John, 
and here, take this blanket or you ’ll never get 
there. Good-by, I ’ll see you after the battle.” 

Shortly after the departure of John with the 
sergeant for headquarters, a staff officer rapidly 
approached the picket line, gave the countersign, 
rode up to the shop, and informed the officer 
that General Curtis with his staff would soon 
pass and that the troops were falling back. In 
the course of an hour, General Curtis with his 
staff and body guard passed through the line and 
halted for a few moments at guard headquar- 
ters. The snow was still falling and the General 
was well wrapped from the cold and the wet in 
a great-coat with a fur cap pulled over his ears. 
He inquired the distance to General Davis’s 
position, remarked upon the disagreeable 
weather, and rode on, leaving Sammy in a flutter 
of admiration for the man who had chased Price 
out of Missouri and who was not quailing now, 
in spite of the appalling gathering together of 
the foe. Not long after, the head of Carr’s Di- 
vision appeared, and soldiers continued to pass 
during the remainder of the night and well into 
the morning. There was a great deal of con- 
jecture among the men as to the meaning of this 
retrograde movement, but the consensus of opin- 


208 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


ion seemed to be that General Price had been re- 
inforced and was advancing to attack. 

With the morning, Sammy expected to be 
relieved; but hour after hour dragged by and no 
relief came. Such a state of affairs was unprec- 
edented. He did not know what to think of it 
and it worried him considerably. No sounds of 
battle distant or near disturbed the calm bright- 
ness of the day, so welcomely clear and sweet 
after the storm and murk of the night. The snow 
melted rapidly and soon there was little left, but 
the roads were sloppy and bad. Rations were 
next to nothing, but no relief came. 

About noon of the following day, with rations 
absolutely exhausted, the little picket command 
heard artillery firing several miles off in the di- 
rection of Bentonville which was about nine miles 
distant. 

“ Land o’ Love, d’ ye hear the shootin’, 
Sammy?” asked Zack, who was on the reserve 
just then and had approached Sammy who was 
sitting in front of the little shop trying to 
fathom the meaning of the strange neglect to 
have him relieved from duty. “ It ’pears ter me 
the batttle ’s begun, an’ I ’low we ’d better be 
a-gittin’ back ter camp purty mejum quick.” 

“ I think the rebels must have caught up with 
Sigel,” Sammy replied. “ He was at Benton- 
ville when General Curtis ordered us all to come 


SAMMY ACQUIRES JOHN 209 


together and I do n’t think he has come up as 
yet. He ’s generally behind time. He ’s pretty 
middling liable to be cut off, too, if he does n’t 
watch out.” 

“ An’ that ’s prezactly what ’s a-goin’ ter hap- 
pen ter us if we stay here any longer like id jits. 
Let ’s git out o’ it, Sammy; what d’ ye say? ” 

“ You are talking foolishness, Zack. You 
know we can’t get out of here without orders.” 

“ They do n’t recollect ’bout our bein’ here. 
General Davis’s got a powerful lot on his mind 
an’ it ain’t ter be wondered at if he did fergit us, 
but it ain’t in the rules — or if it is, it had n’t orter 
be — for a handful o’ men ter agree ter be for- 
got, an’ hang around, like a bunch o’ fool sheep, 
or that-air fooler burnin’ deck feller, away out 
here three miles from camp with Johnnie Rebs 
all around us an’ us a-knowin’ all the time that 
we ’re bound ter be slashed to slathereens any 
minute. No Sirree. I ’low General Davis would 
thank you hearty for a remindin’ him of his over- 
looktion. I tell you they ? ve jist fergot us.” 

“ That may be; but if they have, that is our 
misfortune.” 

“ Well, you ’re an orficer an’ I ’m nothin’ but 
a low-down, ornery private that hain’t got no 
business ter go shootin’ off his mouth this-a-way, 
but seein ’s how a Johnnie Reb is more ’n likely 
most any time ter do it anyhow, I ’low I mought 


210 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


as well do it for once my ownse’f — don’t git 
many chancts an’ that ’s a fact — an’ I do say 
that it ’pears ter me you ’re a-actin’ right smart 
foolish,” and with this parting shaft, the stalwart 
backwoodsman turned away with a resigned but 
exceedingly mournful shake of the head. 

The firing continued to draw nearer and it was 
evident a fierce battle was raging not very far 
away. At last, off to the right, the smoke of the 
fight could be seen drifting up above the tree 
tops. Sammy slipped out on the line at the point 
nearest the Bentonville road where the noise of 
the conflict grew steadily into a deafening roar. 
Suddenly, crashing through the scrubby black- 
jacks, came a squadron of the First Missouri 
Cavalry, driven into the picket line, and, with a 
sinking heart, Sammy prepared to surrender his 
sword, never doubting for the moment that rebel 
cavalry had thus come upon him at last. He was 
vastly relieved to discover his mistake, and when 
the Major in command met him with the terse 
inquiry as to what he did there, he explained the 
situation simply. 

“ Well, fall back at once,” the Major com- 
manded. “ There ’s nothing to be gained by re- 
maining out here to certain capture. You ’ve 
been forgotten — that ’s all, and we have need of 
all the men we’ ve got — even fools like you.” 

But Sammy only shook his head stubbornly. 


SAMMY ACQUIRES JOHN 211 

He could not bring himself to desert his post 
until relieved by the proper authority. 

“Well,” responded the Major, shortly, “if 
you can’t take orders from me, at least I can take 
them for myself. I am going back — and you 
would do well to do likewise.” 

He tossed Sammy a belt which he explained 
he had taken from a rebel during the battle, 
called to him once more to come on, and rode 
away. When the squadron had disappeared in 
the direction of General Davis’s camp, Sammy 
returned to headquarters at the little shop in the 
clearing. The sun was already low in the West 
and the bare forests looming up all around, a 
dark and forbidding barrier, seemed all the lone- 
lier, all the more cruel and sinister, by that dreary 
sense of being forgotten and left behind, en- 
hanced by the riding away of that squadron of 
their own cavalry, and by the momentary expec- 
tation of the coming of the rebels. Suddenly, to 
his surprise, all sounds of battle died away, and 
the ensuing quiet was so unexpected that it was 
more nerve-racking than the furor of sound had 
been. 

With the coming of night, the men urged with- 
drawing. Sammy absolutely refused to return 
to camp, but compromised by withdrawing the 
line to the north side of the field and placing the 
picket line in the timber. At ten o’clock, there 


212 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


being still no relief, he decided to send a mes- 
senger back to regimental headquarters and have 
Colonel Washburn ascertain why they were not 
relieved. The Colonel immediately went to Di- 
vision headquarters, inquired into the matter, 
and was told by General Davis that in the ex- 
citement of the day and the re-adjustments of 
the line, this picket had been overlooked. The 
General promised that he would at once send out 
a cavalry relief; and along towards midnight, 
the hungry hearts of Sammy’s forgotten com- 
mand were rejoiced to hear the clanking of sabres 
as the horsemen approached, and soon the tardily 
relieved were marching wearily back to report to 
their regiment. 


CHAPTER XIV 


THE FIRST DAY 

S AMMY and Zack, followed closely by the 
negro, J ohn, who had insisted upon return- 
ing with the sergeant after repeating his story to 
General Davis, and by the rest of the command, 
hastened armyward, hoping to locate their regi- 
ment in ample time to insure their aching bones 
a good long rest and sleep before the activities 
which the morning was sure to bring forth. They 
were so dead tired that the almost overwhelming 
desire to lie down and sleep in their tracks had to 
be fought with unceasing vigilance, and the be- 
numbing drowsiness overcome by sheer force of 
will. The midnight hour was so intensely dark 
that all landmarks were obliterated, as if a cur- 
tain had been lowered between, and were as if 
they had never been. When sent out upon the 
picket duty which resulted in their being for- 
gotten, they had left the army encamped just 
across the creek. Recrossing it after a three- 
days’ absence, not thinking of the changes which 
the stress of preparing for a great defensive bat- 
tle must necessarily bring about, they were 
21 3 


214 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


startled to find no trace of man or beast in all the 
quiet forest world bordering that rapid little 
mountain stream called Sugar Creek. More- 
over, as they pressed on, stumbling over the un- 
even ground, they were surprised to discover that 
they could see the stars shining overhead away 
up in the dark southern sky — hitherto blotted 
out by the heavy arched and interlaced branches 
of the forest so that many had thought the night 
was cloudy. Were they lost that the woods ap- 
peared so much thinner than when they had last 
traveled that way? But before they had gone 
far, they began to realize that they were trav- 
ersing a veritable labyrinth of fallen trees, over 
which they stumbled or climbed as the case might 
be, and understood that these giants of the pri- 
meval forest had been felled by their own men to 
impede the progress of the enemy. So great and 
wearisome an obstacle in their way were the pros- 
trate and piled up trees that, worried and ex- 
hausted as they were, they could not help taking 
pleasure in the knowledge that the blockade 
would be so effectual in delaying the approach of 
the armies of Van Dorn. The blocked roads ex- 
plained the absence of the Union troops. Un- 
doubtedly, they had fallen back to the top of the 
hill to await the attack from that more advan- 
tageous position. 

When at last Sammy’s little command reached 


THE FIRST DAY 


215 


the top of the hill and climbed wearily over the 
fortifications, they found Curtis’s men bi- 
vouacked on the crest overlooking the valley. 
They were in line of battle except that they lay 
upon the ground asleep. The dark that was so 
thick in the valley was thinner up there on the 
hill top and in the faint suggestion of light the 
slumbering, blanket-wrapped forms presented a 
weird and spectral appearance, which was not the 
least influence, by any means, that set the hearts 
of the little bunch of stragglers a-quake at the 
certainty of what tomorrow’s morning would 
bring forth. They had hungered for it. It was 
here. In this dark and ghostly hour before the 
dawn, it assumed its rightful proportions, un- 
dimmed by the strong light of day, of comrade- 
ship, of the vague, happy “ Sometime.” It was 
here, and it was a more awful thing than they had 
thought. 

The tents were all struck, loaded into the 
wagons, and corralled behind the new line, and 
locating their regiment under the changed condi- 
tions proved to be no easy task. It was only by 
dint of diligent search and minute inquiry, more 
than once arousing a slumbering soldier in the 
hope of gaining information and thereby running 
much risk of becoming the recipients of sleepy 
profanity rather than direction from the indig- 
nant one so outrageously disturbed, that the 


216 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


forgotten picket finally stuTnbled* on the Eight- 
eenth and faded apart in the darkness. If any 
had thought, at sight of the weird, muffled forms 
on the hill top, to lie awake the rest of the night 
in shivering anticipation of the morrow, that one 
was agreeably disappointed. Each and every 
one dropped to his sleep like the dead, nor moved 
until aroused in the gray of the early morning; 
and the night before Pea Ridge was gone. 

The army was astir very early. Although the 
expected night attack had not materialized, 
doubtless owing to the blocked roads upon the 
perfecting of which temporary blockade General 
Dodge had so effectively busied himself for the 
last day or so, all realized that the coming strug- 
gle could be deferred no longer. The eyes and 
the thoughts of all were bent steadfastly toward 
the south, where at any moment the rebel hosts 
were expected to appear. The morning was quiet 
and sunny and for a long time there was neither 
sight nor sound of the enemy. It was not until 
nearly nine o’clock that the prolonged booming 
of artillery disturbed the calm of the early day, 
and then men looked at each other in consterna- 
tion; for the sound came from the rear. This is 
what had happened: During the night, the en- 
tire Confederate army had secretly taken a road 
between Bentonville and the Union quarters 
which intersected the telegraph road in the vicin- 


THE FIRST DAY 


217 


ity of Elk Horn Tavern, a small country hostelry 
on the highway, and thus gained General Cur- 
tis’s flank and rear without his being any the 
wiser. He still looked to the southward confi- 
dently anticipating an attack from that direction. 
With the coming of day, scouts were sent out and 
General Curtis was startled to learn that the reb- 
els were gathered in force around Elk Horn Tav- 
ern, and between him and Springfield, upon 
which had rested the only hope of the Union army 
in the event of defeat and retreat. Now Spring- 
field was cut off — with the masses of Yan Dorn 
and Price directly across the telegraph road. It 
was not for nothing that Brigadier- General Sam- 
uel R. Curtis, veteran of the Mexican War, had 
been given command of the Army of the South- 
west in preference to other aspirants who took 
his appointment over them much to heart. He 
wasted no time in idle speculation or in awaiting 
developments, but faced his troops squarely about 
and moved toward the north. General Carr of 
the Fourth Division, now the right wing of the 
army, whose pickets Price had run afoul of very 
early in the morning and thus precipitated the 
skirmishing around Elk Horn Tavern, advanced 
upon the army at the extreme right and was soon 
hotly engaged, while General Osterhaus of the 
First Division was preparing to advance a force 
of cavalry, artillery, and infantry to bring on the 


218 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


battle in front where both armies expected the 
main fighting would be. Meanwhile, the Third 
Division, of which the Eighteenth was to play so 
dramatic and heroic a part in the great battle 
before the day was over, remained in its original 
position on Sugar Creek, chafing under the 
forced inaction, compelled to listen to the tre- 
mendous and swelling fire two miles off to their 
right, which stirred their blood and called to 
them with such peculiar appeal that the restraint 
was almost more than they could bear; and yet 
they must remain out of it, apart from it. Ver- 
ily, it was hard, for with the booming of the can- 
non had come the battle madness — and, more- 
over, it was the first real fight for many of them 
and they knew not what it was. Why? Why? 
Why? Their eager and passionate desire de- 
manded ceaselessly. Why were they not rushed 
to the conflict ? Surely, there was need of them. 
All together, they were too few for the reported 
hordes of Van Dorn. Why must they wait, idle 
and in smug safety, while their comrades bore the 
brunt of the terrible attack and would bear away 
the honors as well? 

General Curtis had wisely retained the Divi- 
sion in order to be prepared to repulse any ap- 
proach from the south, providing the attack at 
Elk Horn Tavern proved merely a feint and 
the enemy’s main attack still come from that 


THE FIRST DAY 


219 


direction, as he more than half expected. About 
eleven o’clock, however, he became convinced that 
the attack at the Tavern was serious, and to the 
immense relief of the boys of the Third Division, 
Davis was ordered out, leaving only one regi- 
ment, the Eighth Indiana, to hold the position; 
and right dolefully did those left behind watch 
their comrades leave for the fray. But another 
surprise awaited the Division. Within only a 
half mile of the fighting line at the Tavern, a 
staff officer came galloping up in the utmost 
haste with orders for General Davis to counter- 
march and go to Lee Town, on the new left of 
the army. Mystified, the men proceeded to coun- 
ter-march for a half mile or so and then took a 
road leading west and soon came to the little 
hamlet of Lee Town. At the edge of the village, 
they were ordered to throw off their knapsacks 
and move forward. Heavy firing could be heard 
immediately in front, the near and sharp rattle 
and roar of the artillery startlingly distinct from 
that more muffied booming away over to the right, 
and yet mingling with it, someway, until that 
distant boom, boom, boom, came to seem like a 
prolonged echo of the nearer guns. 

After passing through the town, they met some 
cavalry under General Osterhaus who had gone 
forth in the morning, bearing prisoners with 
them, and the wounded. Two or three hundred 


220 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


yards more brought them to the Peoria Battery 
posted just to the left of the road on the edge of 
a field, and here they halted for a short time. 

Zack and Percy Selvin had been marching 
side by side, and at the first glimpse of the 
carnage real war had wrought, dead men lying 
stretched upon the ground, their ghastly faces 
turned unblinkingly to the bright sky, or 
crumpled up in a heap, or sprawled over a stump 
as they had fallen, Percy’s face paled and he be- 
gan to tremble violently. 

“Never you mind, young ’un,” Zack com- 
forted, pityingly. “ It ain’t our turn yit by a 
long shot, an’ do n’t you ever fergit that a whole 
passel o’ sogers always comes out o’ battle with- 
out ary a scratch — an’ jist a handful gits kilt. 
Pears-like the fightin ’s over, here, anyhow. Jist 
my ornery luck ter miss all the fun! ” 

Color was slowly coming back into the boy’s 
stricken face as Zack continued his good-natured 
rallying of his oozing courage; but a new and 
sudden look of wide-eyed terror on his counte- 
nance caused Zack to glance quickly in the di- 
rection upon which the boy’s eyes seemed frozen 
with horror. In a bush immediately in front of 
them, the half of a man’s head was hanging. Zack 
promptly placed his gigantic frame between the 
awful sight and the shaking Percy. 

“ Now, look here, young ’un,” he rallied, 


THE FIRST DAY 


221 


lightly, “ you hain’t got ary call ter be payin' at- 
tention ter that air sort o’ thing at all. You ’d 
better be dead ter onct than ter be scared ter death 
ever time you see a dead man. You ’d orter be 
'shamed o’ youself. Whatever would that air 
leetle gal back in Missouri that you ’ve been 
a-tellin’ me so much about think if she could see 
you turnin’ pale before ever you was hit? I 
thought you said she said she ’d be thinkin’ ’bout 
you, an’ had faith in you? ” 

“ She did, Zack, honest. I do n’t deserve it, 
but she did say that very thing.” 

“ An’ would be thinkin’ ’bout you, did you 
say? ” 

“ Yes, Zack, she said that, too.” 

“Well, can’t you fairly see her a-doin’ of it, 
with her eyes shinin’ an’ her purty smile clappin’ 
you on? I kin see her my ownse’f. I tell you if 
I had a gal like that a-lookin’ on, I would n’t be 
a- feared o’ — the devil himself — ” 

“ Nor ‘ hants’? ” suggested Percy, with a faint 
smile, knowing Zack’s weakness. 

“ No, ner hants,” pursued Zack, rashly and 
vaingloriously, it being high noontide; but he 
patted Percy approvingly on the shoulder, 
thereby acknowledging the justice of the sly 
thrust. “ I ’low you ain’t so bad off after all, 
if you kin joke yit. That air leetle gal o’ your’n, 
now, she ’s most the purtiest thing I ever see — 


222 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


always exceptin’ Susie, o’ course,” wondering 
ruefully the while he cheered if he were being 
altogether loyal to Sammy, who, most likely, was 
also thinking about that same little girl back in 
Missouri. 

“ How do you manage it, Zack? ” asked Percy, 
wistfully. “ I do n’t want to be afraid. I am 
ashamed all the time. I have never yet seen you 
scared. Tell me your secret.” 

“ There ’s a passel braver ’n me,” replied Zack, 
soberly. “Ask them. Pattern yourself after 
our First Lieutenant, for instance. Why, he 
ain’t even a-f eared o’ hants, Percy! ” 

“ But it ’s you, Zack, you, that I am looking 
to to help me through this awful time coming. 
What keeps you going straight ahead? ” 

“ Why, I ’low it ’s jist Susie a-lookin’ on,” 
said Zack, simply. 

The troops moved to the right and trotted 
down a woods road, which they had no sooner 
entered than the bullets began to whistle all 
around them like mad. For the life of him, 
poor Percy could not keep from wincing and 
dodging, and presently, he was lagging behind. 
A sharp prod in the back caused him to glance 
quickly over his shoulder, and there was Zack, 
his face no longer pityingly sympathetic, but 
stem, set, determined, prodding him forward 
with the point of the bayonet. 


THE FIRST DAY 


223 


“ No more failin’ out for you, my lad,” he 
drawled, convincingly. “ The Lieutenant said 
you was to have your chanct — not a skinny 
one, either — so I’m jist a-seein’ that you git 
it, that’s all. Don’t lag behind that-a-way! 
It ’s double-quick ! Keep up, young ’un, keep 
up ! This here ol’ bay’net has a powerful sharp 
pint. Keep up, I tell you! ” 

Sammy was trotting along by the side of the 
Captain. The bullets came whizzing along fast 
and furious, and often and often one could feel 
the breath of their rapid flight through the air 
upon one’s cheek, and could hear them still going 
on, singing their sibilant song, until the sound 
of it was lost in the myriad other sounds of the 
battle. When one hissed past the Captain, un- 
comfortably close to his head, he dodged, and 
Sammy laughed. He could n’t help it. It was 
unpardonable, but the laugh was out before he 
could stop it. 

“ What are you laughing at, ninny? ” cried the 
Captain, sharply. 

“ I was laughing at your trying to dodge a 
bullet,” said Sammy, honestly, but apologet- 
ically. 

“ This is a pretty time to be laughing, I must 
say! ” retorted the Captain, wrathfully. At an- 
other time, he, too, might have laughed with 
Sammy; but not today, with cannon thundering 


224 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


on every side, showers of grape and canister hurt- 
ling overhead, minie balls hissing past, with the 
acrid smoke of it all choking one and alternately 
hiding and revealing the awful sights of a battle 
field already fought over. Only the frivolous 
could find anything amusing under such serious 
circumstances — feather-brained, under-graduate 
youngsters who had played at drill on a univer- 
sity campus, like Sammy Goodman, for instance. 
The Captain had forgotten for the moment that 
it was on the University campus that he had 
marked and mentally chosen his First Lieuten- 
ant. 

After advancing about a quarter of a mile 
through this rain of lead, they came to a little 
field where they halted, although here the bullets 
were pattering down thicker and faster than 
ever. The men sought desperately to find pro- 
tection behind trees at the edge of the woods, and 
here the Captain of Company E showed his 
mettle by standing boldly out in front keeping 
his men in order, where it was a thousand won- 
ders he was not shot. He was a brave man, the 
Company’s Captain, there could be no question 
then or after as to that, but — the bravest some- 
times dodge bullets. When one would come 
rather close on one side of his head, he would 
take his hand and brush along the side of his 
face as if shooing flies, and, the next moment, he 


THE FIRST DAY 


225 


would be doing the same thing on the other side. 

And then, suddenly, the field swarmed with 
men in blue falling back. The Second Brigade 
had been hotly engaged, and, sorely pressed by 
superior numbers, having practically faced Mc- 
Cullough’s entire command massed to the west 
and north of Lee Town, was rushing back in 
more or less disorder. The Eighteenth and the 
Twenty-second Indiana regiments were ordered 
to form in the road running beside the field and 
stop the rout. Colonel Pease, Chief of General 
Davis’ Staff, undertook to reform the disorgan- 
ized line behind these two regiments, and, being 
unable to find a commissioned officer among 
them, yelled, “ Where are your officers? Are n’t 
there any officers belonging to this gang? ” Fi- 
nally catching sight of a corporal, he cried: 
“ Corporal, you form these men! ” 

After some order had been obtained, the two 
plucky regiments which had stood like a rock 
of refuge, in the kindly lee of which the broken 
and disorganized waifs and strays of those who 
had been literally over-ridden by the swarming of 
the myriads of the redoubtable McCullough had 
caught their breath and made ready to begin 
again, made a left half-wheel through the field 
and went into the woods. To their utter con- 
sternation, they had no sooner entered the tim- 
ber than the battery they had so lately left began 


226 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


shelling them. It was only a quarter of a mile 
behind them with scattered timber and open field 
between, and panic was imminent, for there is 
nothing so absolutely demoralizing to soldiers as 
to be fired upon by their own men. The enemy 
— that is what he is there for, they expect it, 
are braced for it, are upheld by the stimulation 
of being able to fire back, by the happy chance 
of returning, with usury, what they had received ; 
but to have their own men suddenly open fire 
upon them — it was like having the bottom drop 
out of the universe, leaving them empty of re- 
source, of reason, and of courage. It was with 
the utmost difficulty that a general rout was pre- 
vented. All were ordered to lie down, and Col- 
onel Pattison of the Eighteenth, commanding 
the Brigade, directed a staff officer standing near 
to order that battery to cease firing, it was firing 
upon their own troops. The officer gave one 
quiet, comprehending glance into the flashing 
eyes of the commander, and then, without a 
word, turned and headed his horse straight 
toward the open field with its awful blur of 
smoke, straight toward the thunder of the can- 
non, straight toward the rain of shot and shell. 

Sammy drew his breath hard and his eyes 
shone. In the exaltation of spirit which had 
been his since the moment that the Division had 
been ordered out, he wished that it had been he 


THE FIRST DAY 


227 


who had been sent upon that journey from which 
the odds were so heavy against one’s ever return- 
ing. Would they know him — their own men so 
devotedly but so mistakenly directing that deadly 
fire — would they recognize the gallant messen- 
ger in time to avert his death by their own hands? 
Gracious God in heaven! Sammy, stretched at 
length behind a fallen sapling, saw the young 
staff officer with steady hand and eyes come gal- 
loping down the line toward his company, close 
to which he must pass upon entering the exposed 
field, saw him sitting straight and strong and true 
in his saddle, one moment, and the next saw him 
reel slightly and fall to the ground shot through 
the heart. 

Many had heard Colonel Pattison’s terse order 
and realized the importance of it; and one man, 
not quick ordinarily to see a fine point, who had 
never seen the time when he would not have wel- 
comed “ pneumony fever ” as an indisputable 
excuse for staying away from school, who had 
lived to be nearly nineteen years old before see- 
ing a railroad train, who would have died rather 
than look upon a “ hant,” grasped this thought 
that Colonel Pattison’s message must be carried 
across that field, why not by him as well as by 
another, so quickly that the dead man’s foot was 
scarcely dragged from the stirrup before his own 
was there in its place. 


228 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 

“Why, Zack!” murmured Sammy, a lump 
coming into his throat and a smart to his eyes. 
“ Why, Zack! Maybe you ’ll be killed, old chap ! 
Why, Zack! ” 

These spectacular deeds of heroism are fine, 
soul-stirring things when performed by people 
you do not know — distant staff officers, for in- 
stance — but when it comes to “home folks,” 
boys you have played hookey and three old cat 
with, gone swimming with, spelled down with, 
and taken up arms against the “ Cracker Neck 
fellers ” with, oh, it is still glorious, of course, but 
“ Why, Zack! ” is the cry of the heart. 

With one flying leap, Zack was in the saddle, 
and, whooping and yelling, beating the horse, 
which was nothing more than a small sheep 
pony, with his cap, his long legs nearly reaching 
the ground, he flew across the field and dashed 
recklessly right up to the front of the battery. 

“ What in hell air you a-firin’ on our own men 
for? ” he yelled, waving his cap in the air as a 
signal to cease mistaken hostilities. 

“A Yank! A Yank!” the men around the 
battery suddenly began to shout, and to his in- 
finite dismay, Zack perceived that the rebels had 
taken possession of the guns, and thus the indis- 
criminate firing was explained. 

“ Goqd Lord! ” he muttered, under his breath, 
and, turning the little sheep pony, he came back 


THE FIRST DAY 


229 


lickety click across that field in the shortest 
time, it is safe to assert, that that sagacious ani- 
mal had ever made a similar distance in all his 
sheep-herding life. Zack was no coward, as has 
been shown — except when ghosts were floating 
around — but during that short mad dash for the 
woods and the Eighteenth, he bade loving fare- 
wells to “ Pore o I’ Pap an’ Mam an’ the leetle 
tads an’ the folks ter hum an’ — an’ Susie. Do n’t 
fergit me, Susie, an’ you kin marry some good 
stiddy man if you like — I do n’t want you for 
ter be lonely all your life — a slip o’ a gal like 
you needs ter be loved an’ took keer on — only 
don’t plumb fergit me, dearie, will you? Sam- 
my ’ll tell you how it come I could n’t come back 
ter you myself.” 

Why he was not killed was one of the miracles 
of the war, as he was in the midst of a heavy cross 
fire from the rebel front and from the captured 
battery. By this time, Colonel Pattison was in 
a towering rage. He met Zack at the edge of 
the timber. 

“ Did n’t you order them to cease firing? 
Don’t you see that they are still shelling us? 
What do you think you went up there for — to 
pass the time of day? ” 

“ Yes, sir,” replied Zack, respectfully, too 
dazed at finding himself safe and whole at once 
to enlighten the Colonel’s mind as to his mistake, 


280 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


“ I ordered them ter quit firin’ on us all right, 
but I ’low they did n’t see fit ter mind.” 

“ What do you mean, sir? ” raged the Colonel. 

“ The rebels have that battery, sir,” said Zack, 
with dazed simplicity. 

The Colonel’s surprise was not to be wondered 
at, considering the fact that he had but just left 
the battery in Union hands, surrounded by 
Union troops, with the Eighteenth and the 
Twenty-second between it and the immediate 
rebel front; but a considerable Confederate force 
had slipped in behind and taken the guns without 
his being any the wiser. However, if his surprise 
was great, his quick recovery from it was greater. 
The advantage to the Confederates in the posses- 
sion of the Union guns in that position was tre- 
mendous. The alert, military mind of Colonel 
Pattison grasped its significance instantly and he 
met the situation and conquered it with a bril- 
liance and sweeping success that should have won 
him peculiar distinction at the War Department, 
as it did in the hearts of the Eighteenth Indiana. 

Immediately after Zack’s return, the rebels 
who had taken the battery began to move up, 
making the welkin ring with that strange, pierc- 
ing, insistent battle cry which had already come 
to be known as the rebel yell. When within sixty 
rods of the Union men waiting in the edge of the 
timber, they were met with a volley of musketry 


THE FIRST DAY 231 

that was awful in its effect. These Indiana regi- 
ments carried the old muskets only, loaded with 
three buck shot and an ounce ball. They would 
not shoot far, sixty yards was about their limit, 
but they were terrible in the proper range, and 
the slaughter they wrought among that rebel ad- 
vance was perhaps unique in history for the 
number of men lost in so short a time. The one 
volley was followed by the order to charge at once 
without reloading. 

The Union line was formed north and south, 
parallel with the east side of the field, to the 
south of which was the battery. With a rush and 
a wild enthusiasm, the charge swept across the 
field. When about half the distance had been 
covered, a huge, fallen tree suddenly presented 
itself directly in the way of Company E of the 
Eighteenth, practically covering its entire front 
and the right of Company K. If a kingdom was 
lost for the want of a horse-shoe nail, true it is 
that the battle around Lee Town, and if Lee 
Town mayhap Elk Horn Tavern and thus Pea 
Ridge — for what an infinite chain of difference 
in results one break would set going — came so 
perilously near being lost by the unplanned pres- 
ence of a worthless, worn-out tree that the anal- 
ogy holds good. The tree was heavily branched 
and really made a formidable obstruction, espe- 
cially considering the fact that the men were 


232 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


under severe fire all the time. And now was the 
time come for the Eighteenth, all untried as was 
Sammy, to show the stuff it was made of. It 
may be that because always in the backwoods 
country he had been looked up to and made a 
leader, willy nilly, helped Sammy then; perhaps 
the sense of responsibility because of his better 
understanding, which had quickened his foot- 
steps on a certain first day of school when the 
bright world of after-frost had steeped him in the 
wine of waiting and forgetfulness, helped him 
more. Certain it is that, when the company wa- 
vered, it seemed to Sammy Goodman that the one 
thing in all the world worth while was to keep 
the line from breaking. It must not break. Sim- 
ply, it must not break . Oddly enough, he was not 
in the least frightened. He did not seem to 
have time to think about being afraid. There 
was room for nothing else in his mind but the 
straightening and strengthening of that fighting 
line. Bullets pattered all around him but he 
paid no more attention to them than if they had 
been so many snowflakes. He was at the left 
of the company, encouraging, rallying, com- 
manding, his face flushed, his eyes shining. The 
killing of Colonel Hendricks of the Twenty- 
second caused much confusion and disorganiza- 
tion in the ranks of that regiment, which was 
communicated more or less to the left wing of 


THE FIRST DAY 


233 


the Eighteenth. Suddenly, the whole company, 
especially to the right, became confused and 
manifested a startling disposition to run, to fol- 
low the demoralized Twenty-second whose gal- 
lant Colonel lay dead upon the field. 

Sammy glanced hurriedly around, seeking the 
Captain. He could see him nowhere. He him- 
self seemed to be the ranking officer. Rushing 
to the right, he met a sergeant on a frantic run 
to the rear. The face of the “ non-com ” was ab- 
solutely colorless and his eyes had a dazed, fixed 
stare as of one in a trance. They were glassy and 
frozen. He was brushing past Sammy without 
in the least recognizing him when Sammy seized 
his arm and shook him soundly, crying sharply: 

“ Where are you going? What is the matter 
with you? ” 

“We are whipped! We are whipped!” the 
sergeant cried, in a high, strained voice. “ Run! 
Run! We are whipped! ” 

“Whipped nothing!” snapped Sammy. 
“ You are dreaming! Wake up, man! Go back 
to your company ! Do you hear me? Go back to 
your company! ” 

He turned the dazed man around and headed 
him for the front. The sergeant stared at him 
blankly a moment and then the light of reason 
slowly dawned in his eyes, called back to life by 
the irresistible magnetism of the young com- 


284 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


mander’s personality. It was as if he had in very 
truth been in the grip of some hideous night- 
mare. He drew a long breath, and went back to 
the company without another word. 

Sammy then rallied that part of the line which 
had been so perilously near to breaking. Some 
of the men scrambled over the troublesome ob- 
struction; others went around it. It seemed a 
tiling alive, so insolently and vindictively had it 
thrust itself across their way. Hastening back to 
the left which he had but just brought to good 
order, he was momentarily dismayed to find it all 
broken up, mixing in the utmost confusion with 
Company K and others of the left wing. If, 
after all, Company E should be put to rout! It 
must not be! It must not be! If his company 
bolted, it would take the entire left wing with it, 
leaving but five companies of the Eighteenth, the 
only organized force in that part of the field. 
It would be impossible for so small a force to 
drive back the swarming rebels and recapture the 
battery. In all probability, these companies 
would break, too. If Sammy’s mind and heart 
a moment before had been singularly free of all 
else but the simple conviction that the line must 
be held steady, in some way, it mattered not how 
just so it was held, now more than ever were 
they so when he saw it tottering to dismay and 
defeat. Captain Lowe of Company K was mak- 


THE FIRST DAY 


285 


ing heroic but unsupported efforts to bring order 
out of chaos. Sammy plunged into the breach, 
and so irresistibly commanding was he in his 
magnificent young manhood, so contagious was 
his enthusiasm, and so unquestioned his courage 
which ever cried, “Come!” and never, “Go!” 
that the left rallied to a man, and, with a rousing 
cheer, straightened the straggling line and 
sprang forward. 

Returning once more to the right, Sammy 
looked anxiously for the Captain, dreading to 
find him slain. Glancing along the now unwa- 
vering line, he was surprised to behold the Cap- 
tain in front of Company C, the second company 
to the right, waving his sword and cheering on the 
men. Sammy ran to him and said in a low voice, 
“ Captain, Company E is down this way.” 

The Captain looked at him oddly a moment, 
somewhat in the same manner that the sergeant 
had a short time before; then he turned and 
quietly followed his First Lieutenant. Confused 
he was ; never a coward. Super-excitement plays 
us strange tricks sometimes. A high sense of 
duty and a strong will kept him with his face to 
the enemy. That he was for the moment unable 
to differentiate between the companies was a 
mere matter of detail, lost in the throbbing of the 
mighty, main idea. Sammy never mentioned it, 
nor did he. The incident was closed. 


286 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


The charge, now composed of the unbroken 
Eighteenth with one company of the Twenty- 
second under plucky Captain Keith joined to 
its left, pushed on to complete victory. The 
rebels retreated before the compact rush and the 
battery was retaken. 

Five minutes later, General Davis himself rode 
up. Where he came from, Sammy never knew, 
nor how he escaped death or capture. His pres- 
ence there was another of those unexplainable 
miracles of the war, which touched up the awful 
woe of it and made it bearable. Eyes burned and 
throats grew lumpy as the tired, over-excited, 
disheveled, powder-besmirched boys of the 
Eighteenth with the reaction from the exhilara- 
tion of their devoted charge already setting in 
looked up and beheld their gallant and beloved 
General descended upon them as from the clouds. 
His was a figure well worth their impassioned 
gazing upon, straight, alert, handsome, military, 
radiant, exalted, fearless. They admired him for 
his strict disciplinarianism, and forgot his hasty 
temper in admiration of his fairness and courage. 

“ Men of the Eighteenth Indiana,” he cried, in 
a clear, ringing voice that all distinctly heard and 
hugged to their tired hearts and kept warm there 
forever, “ Men of the Eighteenth Indiana, ten 
minutes ago, I thought the battle was lost — but 
you have saved it! ” 


CHAPTER XV 

A GREAT VICTORY 

I F THE Eighteenth had known then what was 
learned later, that both General McCullough 
and General McIntosh had been killed during 
the afternoon’s battle, picked off by Federal 
sharp-shooters, its rest would have been calmer 
that night; for, in the minds of many, McCul- 
lough was more to be feared than all the rest of 
the Confederate leaders engaged in that cam- 
paign put together. General McIntosh, too, had 
justified the proud boast of Colonel Medburton 
that there would be no holes in coat-tails when the 
Texans got there, by being shot squarely through 
the heart. But the Eighteenth did not know 
these things, and, as night closed in, the boys were 
tired, very hungry and troubled, notwithstand- 
ing their recent splendid charge and glorious 
victory. They stayed by the battery until nearly 
eleven o’clock. The men had had nothing to eat 
since the leisurely early breakfast when they had 
so unsuspectingly waited for Van Dorn to come 
marching up from the south. They were chilled 
through and through and were, for the most part, 
28 7 


238 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


without blankets, having thrown them away at 
Lee Town. They had no other thought than that 
their lot w r as to bivouac there at the battery for 
the night, and the prospect was a gloomy one. 

About nine o’clock, some time after all fight- 
ing had ceased, Sammy, leaning against a bullet- 
ridden tree in the chilly dark, sick with hunger, 
giddy for want of sleep, realizing how desperate 
was their situation unless the fighting was soon 
over, with no forage for man or beast, oddly and 
half-deliriously dreaming of five biscuits Mrs. 
Posey had made for Zack one morning long ago, 
elaborately explaining as she did so that “ Pore 
Zack always eats more when he ’s sick,” felt a 
light touch on his arm and heard a soft whisper: 

“ Is dat you, Marse Gineral? ” 

“ Why, John, where did you come from, and 
how on earth did you get here? ” cried Sammy, 
in startled surprise. 

“ De Lawd knows — I don’. I only know r s 
I ’s boun’ to git heah an’ heah I is,” said John, 
simply. “ I ’s done brung you some coffee, 
Marse Gineral. Heah ’t is, in dis yer of canteen. 
Now, don’ you spill hit! Dar ain’ no mo’ whar 
dis yer come from — an’ yo’ han’ so shaky I ’s 
a-f eared. An’ heah am some bread. Hab some 
o’ de fat o’ de lan’ ol’ Marse was a-tellin’ me 
about.” 

“ John,” said Sammy, his voice as shaky as his 


A GREAT VICTORY 


239 


hand, “ what a silly notion that is that in Heaven 
the angels will all be white regardless of color on 
earth. It would n’t be Heaven without your 
black skin, boy. If I found jmu had turned a 
pasty white, I ’d have to come away.” 

Never did anything ever before taste so good 
as tasted that scanty meal of bread and coffee. 
Sammy felt a new man when he had finished. 

“ I planted better than I knew,” he murmured, 
whimsically but gratefully, “ and my bacon rind 
has returned already. Talk about bread return- 
ing after many days, bacon rind has it beaten all 
hollow in point of time. But, John, where did 
you get all this richness? ” 

“ De bread I toted undah mah coat sence 
mawnin’ befo’ you-all stawted, an’ de coffee I 
borrowed from somebody ovah yondah. Heah ’s 
de blanket what you done gib me de night I foun’ 
you befo’, an’ whar does you want yp’ baid made, 
Marse Gineral? ” 

About eleven o’clock, after most of the weary 
men had fallen asleep in their fireless bivouac, 
there came a whisper to get up and fall in line. 
What did it mean? Were they about to be at- 
tacked or were they going to attack? Were they 
to retreat or simply change their position? They 
moved out as quietly as they could, marched back 
through Lee Town, and on until they struck the 
telegraph road that led to Elk Horn Tavern; 


240 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 

then turned north and marched about half a mile 
to a field. Here the troops were ordered to file 
to the right and form a line at the edge of the 
field with their left resting on the road, and were 
then allowed to get what rest they could. Then 
only was their real destination known. For some 
reason, locked as yet in their great leader’s mind, 
they were come to bolster up Carr’s splendid 
right wing. 

Zack and Percy gathered brush and piled it in 
the lee of a large dead tree. Thus they were 
protected from the dampness of the ground and 
partly so from the chilling wind. They were com- 
paratively comfortable and lay down to sleep; but 
the excitement caused by the mystery surround- 
ing the movement just made had driven away 
the desire for sleep, unutterably weary as they 
were, and presently they drifted into low-voiced 
conversation concerning the events of the day 
and speculating upon what the morrow would 
bring forth. That fighting would be renewed 
with the coming of day, there could be but little 
doubt after their stealthy change of position in 
the night. Where the brunt of it would fall was 
a debatable question which would be answered by 
the rebel guns in the morning. The position of 
the main Confederate host was as unknown to 
Curtis’s little army as were the terrors of the 
unknown .seas to Columbus and his handful of 


A GREAT VICTORY 


241 


men, and the shivering uncertainty was as hard 
to bear as was the superstitious dread of that 
earlier time. A strange hush brooded over the 
slumbering bivouac, the stranger for the surcease 
of the awful roar of the day’s sounds. The fit 
only were here — the fighting line. The wounded 
were all in the rear, their moans smothered in 
the pitying distance; and the dead were left be- 
hind, and they were very still. The fit, yes, 
only the fit were here now, sleeping quietly and 
gravely beneath the dark canopy of the far off 
sky, blanketless, hungry, yet sleeping the short 
night through that they might be the more fit 
in the morning. When night should come again, 
there would be fewer asleep here in front, more 
back there; the line still fit, but growing very 
small 

An hour of quiet. 

“ Are you asleep, Zack? ” 

“ Nope. Not yit. I do n’t seem skeered, an* 
I ’m plumb wore out an’ rheumaticky, an’ yit, 
somehow, I can’t seem ter git ter sleep. I ’low 
I won’t git ary wink this night an’ then I ’ll be 
the one laggin’ behind an’ you’ll git a chanct 
ter stick me in the back, Percy. I hope you ’ll 
do it, too.” 

“ I can’t sleep, either. I have been thinking 
about home. There are so feW of us, Zack, and 
I ’m afraid there won’t be very many left to — 


242 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


to tell the folks back home about it. I have a 
feeling tonight that I shall never go home again 
— that I shall be shot — ” 

“ In the back? ” interrupted Zack, laughingly, 
hoping to divert his companion’s somber thoughts 
into cheerier channels. 

“ No, you won’t let me,” responded Percy, in- 
genuously. “ I know it sounds babyish and all 
that to talk about dying, but I can’t help the feel- 
ing — it ’s there and if anything should 
happen to me tomorrow, I wish you would write 
to my mother. This is her address on this bit of 
paper.” 

“ You kin count on me for that,” Zack assured 
him, earnestly. “ I ’low your mother has a right 
smart o’ book lamin’ — j edgin’ from her son — 
but I ’ll git Sammy to spell the big words. I 
never was much on the spellin’ propersition. 
Skull ? s too durned thick, I reckon. Rut Sam- 
my ’ll be right glad ter he’p me. What Sammy 
don’t know ’bout spellin’ an’ sich ain’t worth 
a-puttin’ in the book. I never knowed him ter 
miss on those belly-achin’ words in the back. 
Sammy ’ll he’p me, so do n’t worry.” 

“ Does he help you write your letters to 
Susie? ” asked Percy, smiling faintly. 

“ Nary a letter,’’ replied Zack, serenely. 
“ Why, Susie ’s jist my little sweetheart an’ she 
do n’t care.” 


A GREAT VICTORY 


243 


“And mother is just — my little mother, 
Zack, and she won’t care,” said Percy, softly. 
“ I ’d rather you wrote it every bit yourself, just 
you. You have been very good to me. I do not 
forget it — nor will she.” 

“ Then you have forgiven me for bein’ so cross 
with you an’ stickin’ you in the back ter make 
you keep up? I didn’t mean nothin’ agin you, 
you know that, do n’t you, but somehow I jist 
could n’t abide seein’ you disgrace yourself that- 
away.” 

“ Forgiven you? Why, you did me a very 
great favor, the greatest of all. As I have just 
said, I do not forget it. Our Lieutenant was 
good to me, too, Zack, but not in your way. He 
is so brave that he seems removed from me, some- 
way, on another plane; while you — you are just 
as brave and yet, someway, you seem to under- 
stand. But he has given me my chance — for 
the sake of the girl back in Missouri, because she 
asked it — ” his voice was very low indeed then 
— “ and, as you said, not a skinny one, either, 
and so, if I forget tomorrow, I hope you will 
shoot me dead.” 

“ All right,” said Zack, cheerfully, “ but I 
ain’t a-lookin’ for you ter be took that-away 
agin. Before this here war is over, you ’ll per- 
form some brave act that ’ll make you famous.” 

“ If I can only have the nerve to stay by your 


244 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


side, Zack, through all the fighting we take part 
in, that will be sufficient for me. If I succeed 
in doing that, I shall be proud of myself — when 
the war is over.” 

“ I ’m a-f eared you ’ll be a mighty common 
soger if you do n’t git any furder than ter f oiler 
me,” rejoined Zack, soberly. 

“ That is all I am trying to be — a common 
soldier.” 

Shortly after sun-up the Confederates opened 
fire with thirty-six cannon and then such an in- 
fernal racket of grape and canister took place as 
the Eighteenth had never before faced; and then 
it was that the seer-like wisdom and the incom- 
parable generalship of the leader of that brave 
little Army of the Southwest began to be appar- 
ent. He had not known that Van Dorn had 
withdrawn all his troops from Lee Town and 
concentrated them at Elk Horn Tavern to crush 
the Federal right ’wing early in the morning 
while Curtis’s army was so widely separated and 
before Davis and Sigel could come up — but he 
had thought it likely. Hence the stealing 
forth in the night of Davis’s Division. 

The First Indiana Battery could not stand the 
fearful cannonading which had opened up and 
fell back. Sammy came up to where Zack and 
Percy were lying flat upon the ground behind 
a tree. 


A GREAT VICTORY 


245 


“ This is rather bad, boys,” he said, as he flung 
himself down behind a small sapling, no larger 
around than a man’s wrist. He had hardly 
ceased speaking before it was cut off and fell 
over upon him. 

“ How are you making out, Selvin? ” he con- 
tinued, as calmly as if nothing had happened. 

“ Pretty well, thank you, Lieutenant,” replied 
Percy, steadily, but shivering slightly as Sammy 
tossed the broken sapling aside. 

“ We hain’t either o’ us been shot in the back 
yit,” spoke up Zack, “ but I ’low I may be soon 
if this gits much hotter.” 

At that moment, General Sigel came up with 
his Division and moved to the left where was a 
field with rising ground, and here the German 
troops formed with flags flying and with as much 
precision as if on parade. A splendid body of 
men they were — fit American citizens — and 
right gallant did they look in their “ Osterhaus ” 
hats, forming under heavy fire from all the rebel 
batteries as steadily and as perfectly as though 
guns and fear and death did not exist. 

“What a magnificent sight!” exclaimed 
Sammy, with intense admiration. “ How would 
you like to be over there with those fellows, 
Zack? ” 

“ They ’re shore behavin’ right well, Sammy, 
but I dunno but it takes ever bit as much nerve 


246 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


ter lie still here expectin' ever minute ter have 
your head blowed off.” 

“ I reckon you are right, Zack,” Sammy re- 
plied, as a shell went screaming over his head and 
exploded a short distance behind. 

Through all the fearful havoc wrought by the 
rebel artillery, the Eighteenth kept its head and 
its ground; not until the order came to fall back 
did it budge an inch from its position, but, justi- 
fied by the command, it was very glad indeed to 
move back two hundred yards or so to the com- 
parative shelter of the heavier timber, the enemy 
maintaining a continuous and vicious shelling all 
the while. It was not for long, however, that the 
men were permitted to bask in this somewhat 
meager but gratefully welcomed protection. The 
Eighteenth Indiana was too fit for that. The 
order came to move to the right. So the regi- 
ment moved eastward for a short distance, faced 
north, then moved to the east again and thus be- 
came the extreme right of the army. Moving 
rapidly to a clearing, perhaps three or four hun- 
dred yards wide, it formed once more in line of 
battle. To press forward, straight across this 
field, were the orders, and the Eighteenth trotted 
into the open with the same airy confidence with 
which it had rushed forward yesterday to charge 
the battery, and with almost as much enthusiasm. 
The obstacle encountered then had been glori- 


A GREAT VICTORY 


247 


ously surmounted — or gone around. What met 
it now, flesh and blood could not endure — and 
live. The men had traversed nearly two-thirds 
of the distance across when the rebels suddenly 
opened up a masked battery and then was hell 
let loose. Grape and canister were hurled right 
into their faces with such unexpectedness and 
such awful continuity as nothing less than super- 
man could have resisted. For the first and last 
time in its history, the Eighteenth fell back with- 
out orders. 

Sammy was swept along with the backward 
rush, as wildly eager for the woods as any. In 
the midst of the confused scramble for safety, it 
was suddenly borne in upon him that he must 
have been shot. His right foot pained him 
severely at every step so that he was compelled 
to limp and soon began to lag behind. In the 
strange delirium that super-excitement begets, 
he thought that presently he should have to lie 
down there on the exposed, powder-smoked field, 
and wait until the battle was over for some one 
to come for him and carry him away to the hor- 
rors of the field hospital — if he still lived. It 
would likely be night. All at once, his brain 
cleared and he realized what had happened. With 
an impatient exclamation, he sat right down in 
the path of the roaring battery and took off his 
shoe. Zack was at his side in a moment. 


248 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 

“ My God, Sammy I ” he cried, huskily, his face 
showing white through the grime of the battle. 
“ Air ye wounded? Where be ye hurted? ” 

“ No, you idiot! Can’t a fellow take a stone 
out of his shoe without the whole army’s stopping 
to gape at him? Hurry along there if you do n’t 
want to get shot!” cried Sammy, wrathfully, 
though in justice it must be said that his choler 
was aroused at the presence of the stone rather 
than that of Zack. 

The stone was a large one, and jagged, and 
his foot was bruised and swollen from the vicious 
rasping and jabbing. When he rose to follow 
his retreating comrades, the shoe was in his hand. 
It was in this undignified manner that the idol of 
Company E limped back to the shelter of the 
timber. The men were all lying down and 
Sammy quickly sought the protection of a near- 
by stump. While they lay there at the edge of 
the woods, waiting, wondering what the next 
move would be, their hearts were figuratively 
driven into their throats by a tremendous uproar 
from behind. They turned to behold a world 
of troops, it seemed, moving down upon them, 
with blood-curdling yells and with a display of 
fresh, sweeping enthusiasm and purpose that was 
paralyzing to the little bunch of Hoosiers hud- 
dled down in the thin timber hugging the roots 
and the dead grass. Trapped was the first be- 


A GREAT VICTORY 


249 


numbing thought. The next was one of intense 
relief, for the Union flag was floating over the 
advancing troops, its folds outspread and flutter- 
ing in the spring breeze. This feeling of relief 
in turn was quickly changed to one of chilling 
dismay ; those noisy, gesticulating troops bearing 
down upon them thought that they were rebels! 
For the first time since hearing the guns boom 
out away over at Elk Horn Tavern early the day 
before, Sammy was scared, deathly so. He had 
been excited just now in the mad scamper back 
across the fields to get away from that belching 
masked battery but he had not been particularly 
afraid. Now, however, he was in a very panic 
of fear. He knew that their own flag could not 
be seen by the approaching men for it was with 
the right wing at the east end of the field and 
therefore not visible from their position. In- 
spired by the regiment’s desperate straits, he ran 
toward the newcomers, already halting for the 
first volley, and, utterly forgetful of his lacerated 
foot, jumped upon a big log, waved his shoe 
frantically in the air and yelled: 

“Union! Union! Don’t shoot! Union! 
Union! ” 

The officers were quick to grasp the situation 
and immediately ordered their men not to fire; 
but most of them had their muskets ready, and 
it was with extreme difficulty that the firing was 


250 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 

prevented on such short notice. It was an anxious 
moment for the Eighteenth until the guns were 
lowered, and a serious tragedy averted. If a 
single volley had been fired, the effect would have 
been disastrous, as the new troops were within 
fifty yards of the Indiana men. 

These new troops proved to be the Thirty- 
seventh Illinois coming up as a reinforcement. 
The Eighteenth now moved out into the field 
again, under heavy fire, and re-formed with the 
Illinois regiment on its left. It was hard to form 
the line in the face of that terrible cannonading 
from the treacherous battery which had so unex- 
pectedly raised its head and hissed forth its poi- 
son like a snake in the grass; but General Davis 
himself dashed up at full speed, a splendid figure 
of a man, and aided in steadying the battle 
front. He seemed to hear a charmed life; for 
he made a goodly target out in front of the 
nervous, straggling troops, paying no heed 
whatsoever to the shells hurtling around him, as 
sublimely oblivious to them as if they were not; 
and yet he came out from that maelstrom of shot 
and shell unscathed. When an exceptionally 
heavy volley of grape and canister came pouring 
into the ranks, and the Thirty-seventh began to 
waver, he shouted: 

“ Men of the Eighteenth Indiana, give three 
cheers! ” 


A GREAT VICTORY 


251 


He was remembering the old regiment’s glori- 
ous and history-making charge of yesterday. 
An electrical thrill swept the Eighteenth to a 
man. It was General Davis, their beloved com- 
mander, who had thus appealed to them. Soldiers 
will always cheer when called upon; but never 
before did such rousing cheers soar up toward the 
blue vault of Heaven as then issued from the 
throats of the loyal old Eighteenth, for their 
hearts were with their general and they wanted 
him to know that they were. The thrilling cheers 
straightened the line like magic and General 
Davis immediately ordered a charge. When the 
troops struck the fence bordering the field on the 
far side, the rebel side, the enemy broke and ran. 
The Union troops pursued them for a half mile 
or so, straight up the hill, keeping up a deadly 
fire all the way. Two companies of the Thirty- 
seventh Illinois had Colt’s revolving rifles and the 
steady firing was marvelously effective. The 
way was strewn with the dead and the dying 
beaten to the ground by that pitiless and steady 
rain of fire. 

Upon reaching the level at the summit of a hill, 
the pursuit was discontinued, and the troops 
halted at a road leading to Elk Horn Tavern 
from the east. In a few moments General Cur- 
tis came riding along with his hat off and smiling, 
and the men cheered lustily. It was soon learned 


252 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


that Sigel had turned the enemy’s right as 
Davis’s Division had turned their left, doubling 
them up like a jack-knife, and that the hosts of 
Van Dorn, the “ conjuncted ” armies of Price, 
McCullough, McIntosh, and Pike, as rudderless 
as drifting autumn leaves, had fled. 

So ended the first real battle in which the 
Eighteenth Indiana had taken part. The regi- 
ment had received its first baptism of fire in the 
true sense. The men were sobered. They now 
realized the grim realities of war. Prior to Pea 
Ridge, they had been eager, impatient to get into 
battle — henceforth, they went into battle as a 
duty, clearly understanding its awful tragedies. 
Boys became men. Discipline was appreciated, 
and the “ pomp and circumstance of glorious 
war” had lost its glamor; but duty, patriotism, 
and high resolve took its place. It required the 
crucible of battle to refine the careless boy into 
the good soldier. 

The concentration of the troops in front of 
Elk Horn Tavern on the night of the seventh 
was a movement that marked General Curtis as a 
man of superior tactical ability. A mistake would 
have been fatal. When darkness stopped the 
fighting, the position was practically as follows: 
On the Confederate side, McCullough and McIn- 
tosh had been killed; Pike with his Indians had 
left the field. At Elk Horn Tavern, the rebel 


A GREAT VICTORY 


253 


lines were in good condition and the fighting, in 
the main, had been in their favor. Van Dorn de- 
cided to withdraw all the troops in front of Lee 
Town and concentrate at Elk Horn, and massed 
his batteries, about thirty-six guns, expecting to 
crush Curtis’s right wing early in the morning, 
which would have unquestionably given him the 
victory. On the Union side, Davis’s Division had 
been fully reorganized; Sigel had come up from 
the valley on the left, and the troops were ready 
for what might happen in the morning. On the 
right, Carr and Asboth had been roughly handled 
and part of their line driven back some little dis- 
tance but it was in fairly good condition. Two 
and a half miles of rough timbered country inter- 
vened between the two wings. During the night, 
Davis and Sigel joined the right wing, so that 
when the rebels opened fire in the morning, they 
found the whole Union army in front of them. 
Had Curtis been mistaken as to the movements 
of the enemy and left Davis and Sigel at Lee 
Town, they would have had nothing in front of 
them while the combined rebel forces could soon 
have crushed Carr and Asboth, swung to the 
right and gobbled up the left wing in turn. On 
the other hand, had he brought Davis and Sigel 
over leaving Lee Town open, and the enemy had 
not concentrated, the rebel right wing could have 
marched through, attacked in the rear, and all 


254 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


would have been over. Thus it is that, aside 
from his loyal and patriotic service during the en- 
tire war, Pea Ridge alone should place the name 
of General Curtis high among those who dis- 
played marked military ability and generalship 
of a lofty order. 


CHAPTER XVI 


DELIRIUM 

T HERE was well-earned jubilation in Cur- 
tis’s camp in Sugar Creek valley. The 
army had been fed and refreshed from the cap- 
tured stores of the widely scattered enemy; and 
there was some hope that the surrounding coun- 
try, though sparsely settled and already cruelly 
plucked, might even yet be able to yield some- 
thing to the Commissary Department, sufficient 
at least with the welcome addition of the two 
or three days’ rations taken from the fleeing 
Van Dorn to stay the hungry soldiers until they 
should be bidden to a fairer, more generous land 
— back to the railroad, perhaps, now that the 
way was once more open; but anywhere out of 
the wilderness. Moreover, Curtis’s men were 
justly jubilant because at last they had battled 
face to face, fairly, and had won. 

Marching orders came soon — north, sixteen 
miles, to Cross Timber Hollows, Missouri. Upon 
the Eighteenth devolved the duty of acting as 
rear guard during the army’s progress north- 
ward. The movement began just at dusk and 
255 


256 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


when the rear guard swung into line, a drizzling 
rain was falling and the darkness was so heavy 
that one could not see the man marching in front 
of him. It was a slow and wearisome all-night 
march, with the cold, stinging rain falling stead- 
ily, but the men pressed forward doggedly over 
the almost impassable roads, more than once 
dropping off to sleep while they walked, only to 
be awakened by coming into violent and surpris- 
ing contact with the file in front of them; then 
off to sleep again, dreaming of fluffy feather 
beds at home, or, mayhap, of old Aunt Salina 
Haskin’s Broken-dish patchwork quilt, rotting 
this many a day by some far-away roadside. As 
they crossed the state line, when the dawn was 
just lifting her wan, wet face to survey these 
waifs of the sodden night, the band struck up, 
“ Ain’t I glad I ’m out of the Wilderness,” and 
the walking automatons woke up, echoing the 
sentiment right heartily, and proceeded with a 
brisker step; for they were possessed with a pe- 
culiar feeling that, short as the time had really 
been since they had gone down into Arkansas, 
and far from their own land as they yet were, 
they had been a long time gone and were coming 
home. 

The army remained in camp at Cross Timber 
Hollow until some time in April; then it went 
around the mountains by West Plains, Missouri, 


DELIRIUM 


257 


to Batesville, Arkansas. Of all the weary 
marches in which the Eighteenth had participated 
since the pursuit of Price first began, this one 
was the weariest. There were so many cold 
mountain streams to be waded, so many rough 
wooded hills to be climbed. It was a march to 
test the strength of the strongest. Only the hard- 
iest, perhaps not even those, came out of such 
marches as physically fit as when they went into 
them, and the strain of them told more in after 
years than that of many wounds. 

It was on this march that Zachariah Posey, the 
sturdy backwoodsman, himself as immune from 
the ravages of fatigue as it is possible for healthy 
manhood to be, having much reserve stock to 
draw upon which he had carelessly amassed and 
packed away during all those years of his lazy, 
kindly, woodsy, open-air life, began observing 
Sammy with furtive, uneasy looks which grew 
more and more anxious and solicitous as the 
march grew in length and severity. There could 
be no doubt about it — Sammy was daily grow- 
ing thinner and whiter, was more easily tired, dis- 
played to the watchful eyes which loved him an 
alarming indifference to the external discipline 
of his company, and, yes, it must be confessed, 
developed a rapid, unprofitable growth of short 
temper wholly alien to his usual sunny disposi- 
tion, which sorely puzzled and worried the ever 


258 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


faithful Zack. It was plain to see that Sammy 
was fast reaching the limits of his endurance. 
Zack was mortally afraid that he would drop by 
the wayside, and what a calamitous thing that 
would be, for the army had come to the wilder- 
ness again. There would be no place for Sammy 
to be cared for if left behind. He would have to 
keep up with the army someway. “ I ’low I 
could pack him on my back a right smart o’ the 
way,” thought Zack, pondering the possibilities. 

But it was not until the army arrived in Bates- 
ville and went into camp not far away that 
Sammy dropped out. Towards the close of a 
day, with eyes unnaturally bright, he quietly 
toppled over, and was immediately sent to a 
house at the edge of the town, burning up with 
malarial fever, and to Zack’s intense disgust and 
chagrin, Selvin was detailed to take care of the 
young officer. Zack was heartily glad that he 
had not been called upon to write to Selvin’s 
mother, who was a woman of unquestioned 
“ book l’arnin’,” but he resented that detail al- 
most as cordially. He wanted to take care of 
Sammy himself. But Selvin had his debt to pay, 
too, and he made a devoted nurse. 

It was fully ten days before Sammy was strong 
enough to return to camp. Even then his weak- 
ness was aggravatingly insistent and gave him 
continuous reminders that its claims were para- 


DELIRIUM 


259 


mount and that he would do well to stop wasting 
time fuming and fretting over his inability to 
walk quite steadily as yet, and to give his whole 
attention to building up his little strength and 
conserving it for some near future day when it 
would be required of him. He would not be 
able to bear it if the regiment marched away 
without him. He was not much used to looking 
after his own aches and pains — it had always 
been so promptly and efficiently done for him. 
But there was no thoughtful, watchful, tireless, 
tender mother to do for him now, no loving, ad- 
miring little sisters. He was face to face with 
one of the stern, terrifying realities of the home- 
less man — no woman to care for him when he 
is sick. However, Sammy was convalescent 
now, and he would never consent, never, to be 
left behind. 

One night, soon after he had returned to camp, 
he was awakened by the drums beating the long 
roll. Instantly, he could hear officers along the 
line forming their companies. There was haste 
but little confusion. Sammy sat up, his brain 
throbbingly alert for the call of Company E. It 
is a weird and awful thing — the long roll at dead 
of night, when one must brush the mist of sleep 
from one’s eyes in order to look death in the face. 
He is grimmer then, and startlingly strange, and 
one is very unready to meet him, one has so lately 


260 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


come from a far-away, forgetful place, the land 
of dreams, for the purpose of this dread, unex- 
pected meeting. The Captain slept in the ad- 
joining tent, and Sammy listened in intent, 
painful surprise for the movement which would 
give earnest that the Captain was on duty. All 
was very quiet in the company commander’s 
sleeping quarters. Sammy’s head was reeling 
from the suddenness with which he had sat up, 
combined with his weakened condition, and queer 
points of light were darting hither and thither 
before his eyes. Was Company E asleep? Was 
she about to be dishonored — what, Company E 
of the old Eighteenth? He could stand it no 
longer and sprang to his feet with unthinking 
haste. His bare feet had scarcely touched the 
ground when he was assailed by a strange blind- 
ness and dizziness which caused him to put his 
hand to his forehead for a moment to help him 
to think what he had started out to do. He felt 
a little confused, somehow. Oh, yes, the long 
roll was beating! It was the call for help and 
Company E was asleep ! He drew on his trousers 
with trembling haste, but forgot his coat and 
shoes. The need of swift action was great — 
greater than that he should dally with time, think- 
ing of mere matters of detail in dress. Rushing 
out, he formed the company with a nicety of dis- 
patch and efficiency that gained for it the dis- 


DELIRIUM 


261 


tinction of being second upon the flag line. It 
was not until then that the Captain arrived, fully 
dressed, with the sadly inadequate remark that 
he “ had n’t heard the alarm! 

By that time, Sammy was reeling in his steps 
and clutching his comrades for support, while 
queer, crazy notions floated through his head. He 
abrupt^ turned the command over to the delin- 
quent Captain and started back to his tent. He 
had not gone far when his wandering attention 
was called to the unusual performance of a 
drummer, a confused, over-excited little Ger- 
man who had evidently been too abruptly aroused 
from his slumbers and had not yet recovered his 
equipoise. He was beating his drum with auto- 
matic conscientiousness, but its beats were ac- 
companied by a rapid, monotonous, seemingly 
endless repetition of the unsolicited information 
that “ I fights mit Sigel, Gott tamn it, I fights 
mit Sigel, Gott tamn it! ” His broken English 
bore ample testimony of his extraction and prob- 
able identification with the St. Louis troops, so 
that the running repetition of the insistent 
avowal was ludicrously unnecessary; but Sammy 
was too far gone toward the realm of the fever- 
mad, delirium, to even smile at this fantastic 
idiosyncrasy. How he finally contrived to reach 
his own quarters, he never knew; nor did he hear 
the spicy remarks of the returning soldiers who 


262 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


were chockful of racy resentment at being called 
out on what had proved to be a false alarm, and 
were not sparing in their epithets of blame 
toward the higher powers who had not realized 
it in time to prevent the flagrant waste of energy 
and sleeping hours. He had stumbled down upon 
his bed of army blankets and closed his eyes 
wearily upon the reeling world with its strange, 
darting points of light and its luminous blurs, 
and closed them as well upon the light of reason 
for many long, delirious weeks to come. 

“ Typhoid,” was the surgeon’s brief pro- 
nouncement, after a hasty but honest diagnosis 
of symptoms. “ Severe attack and the devil of 
a start! Above all things, keep him quiet and 
look after him well.” 

Quiet! Grim irony! The army moved soon, 
beginning its long march to Helena, and what 
was to be done with the fever patient then? Only 
one thing seemed practicable. He was hoisted 
to the top of a baggage wagon drawn by a six- 
mule team, and was jolted along in this sorry 
ambulance, under the blazing sun, day after day. 
But there was the faithful Zack to minister to the 
fever-parched young officer, and Selvin, too, both 
of whom had volunteered their services; so his 
straits were not so sore as they might have been. 
The jolting over the rough roads was terrible, 
however, and the heat of the bright, staring sun, 


DELIRIUM 


268 


taken in conjunction with the heat of the burning 
fever, was intolerable. 

“Water! Water!” was the sick man’s con- 
stant cry. He babbled besides an unintelligible 
jargon of words and phrases, but ever returned 
to the suffering plaint, “Water! Water!” 
They gave him of what they could get, but most 
of the water along the way was noisome and 
unfit for use. It was a low, damp, hot, malarial 
region through which they were passing. Zack 
was at his wits’ end. He was as near frantic as 
he had ever been in his life. What would he not 
have given for one brimming cup of the clear 
cold water from the spring back home! Or if 
only that ornery but well-beloved little old 
Crooked Creek might open up before his feet 
and go singing along on its graveled way ! 

There came a day which was insufferably hot. 
Sammy continued to moan for water, but the 
cry was becoming ever weaker and weaker until 
it came at last to seem that it must soon alto- 
gether die away. He was sore-spent with the 
unequal struggle. It could not last much longer. 
There is always a limit to human endurance. 
With a wild determination to get water some- 
where — if he had to dig down into the bowels 
of the earth for it — Zack started away on a 
desperate quest, leaving Selvin in charge of the 
raving, sinking man. From an old negro who 


264 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


was ambling along a lane lined on each side by 
sagging rail fences, he obtained the unexpected 
but welcome information that there was a well 
of “bery fine watah, sah, fines’ in de lan’, two- 
t’ree-fo’ mile yondah way.” In such haste to 
prove the truth of the ancient darky’s state- 
ment was Zack that he scarcely tarried long 
enough for more definite directions before he had 
snatched up an old coffee pot and bounded away. 
It was noon when he left the crawling wagons. 
It was sun-down when he once more rejoined 
them. The old negro’s “ two-t’re-fo’ mile” had 
not dwindled away in the telling. Zack had 
traversed them all and a wide margin besides, and 
every one of them had been as a Chinese puzzle, 
due in part to the errors of misdirection and in 
part to failure to understand the true, and the 
solution of which puzzle, if it is really ever solved 
at all, must be merely stumbled upon at last. Rut 
he had the water — the old coffee pot and his 
canteen were running over with it — and Sammy 
drank while Zack blubbered with relief that the 
pitiful, incessant cry, answered, was stilled at 
last, if even for a very little while. 

And then one day, Sammy awoke. His far- 
away gaze upon things unseen struggled earth- 
ward again, and rested vaguely, unquestioningly, 
upon the world around him. His vision was 
singularly clear, though he was conscious of that 


DELIRIUM 


265 


odd removed feeling of one who has come back 
after long years but who is going away again 
very soon. He was lying flat upon the ground 
in a cornfield. The sun was beating down upon 
his head. It brought back — or rather continued 

— prolonged — the vague, confused, sickening 
turmoil of the wild, uncharted notions of his 
delirium, when his ravings had been mocked by 
the pitiless sun and spat upon by its fiery rain of 
glaring shine. He heard voices but he was 
strangely indifferent as to any word they spoke 

— any message they bore. Perhaps, if he had 
come to stay, he might have been more humanly 
curious ; but seeming to realize right well that he 
would be going back again in a little while, he 
was placidly uninterested as to any specific thing 
these voices might be saying, and their meaning 
continued to drift beyond him while he gazed idly 
up into the shining sky. That is, for a time — 
an indefinite time — ages, perhaps — until one 
voice — a well-known voice, a well-loved voice — 
seeming to come through an infinity of space 

— but familiar as the sound of a mother’s lul- 
laby after long years of silence — penetrated his 
sinking consciousness. 

“ Is he dead? ” 

Now of whom could Colonel Washburn be 
speaking? Had there been a battle? There 
were no sounds of one in the air, he heard no 


266 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 

aftermath of groaning or sobbing. It was very 
quiet all around him. There was just the faint- 
est rustling of the young green corn blades as the 
warm breeze gently stirred them; but that was 
all. And yet somewhere near some one was dy- 
ing; for some one was saying — the Captain, of 
course, at least it was the same voice which had 
said a little while ago, years ago, rather, for all 
at once it seemed ages ago when at first it had 
seemed but a moment — “I did n’t hear the 
alarm ” — this voice was saying: 

“He wasn’t a few minutes ago, but he soon 
will be. We laid him down there when we 
stopped for dinner. It ’s easier for him there, 
poor fellow.” 

If it was strange to think of a man’s dying 
right here, right now, it was stranger still to hear 
his Colonel swear. Sammy had never heard 
Colonel Washburn swear before. The provoca- 
tion must be great. 

“ Dying then? And how could he be anything 
else after having been hauled over these cursed 
roads all these days in a baggage wagon, jolted 
and jammed into a jelly at every lurch, and his 
brains broiling alive meanwhile in the blazing 
sun! It’s shameful! It’s outrageous! That 
the man who saved the day for us at Pea Ridge 
should receive such treatment as this. They say 
that was a brilliant charge of mine which recap- 


DELIRIUM 


267 


tured the battery and turned the tide of battle in 
our favor. I tell you, Captain, it would have been 
a miserable and a disgraceful flunk if that young 
Lieutenant there had not so gallantly rallied the 
broken line when the Twenty-second bolted! 
Do n’t stand there like a blithering idiot! Have 
a stretcher brought from my headquarters at 
once ! There ’s a house over there — it ’s Union 
— see that he is taken there without an instant’s 
delay. Detail some trusty fellow to nurse him — 
one of his friends. A boy like that has a plenty, 
I ’ll wager! We ’ll pull him through yet if we 
can. The Union has need of him.” 

Brave words spoken of some one. Now who 
could that some one be? It must be a fine thing 
to deserve well of one’s Colonel, especially one 
like the Colonel of the old Eighteenth. Perhaps, 
if he were going to stay, even he might some day 
win words of commendation like those. They 
would make everything worth while — a million 
times worth while. But he was going away right 
soon now — he could n’t stay if he wanted to — 
and he was very tired — too tired to linger even 
long enough to see who the lucky fellow was of 
whom the Colonel was speaking — and how far 
away the Colonel was getting — his voice seemed 
to come from an immense distance — it was 
growing fainter and fainter — all other sound 
was stopped up and only a singing silence 


268 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


remained. He was on the point of going off — 
— off — into space. His fingers were oddly itch- 
ing. Queer lights danced before his eyes. The 
Colonel’s voice drifted away into nothingness. 
He was gone. 

Not quite — or was he coming back again? He 
lay listening idly for the rustle of the corn blades 
in the wind, and wondered if Colonel Washburn 
had gone quite away. He was calmly happy and 
content. The sun was going down. It had glared 
so all the time, but now it was faintly mellow, 
cheerfully subdued, graciously restful to tired 
eyes and head. The breeze must have died away, 
too, with the coming of evening, for the corn was 
still. He would lie there all night in the heav- 
enly coolness and quiet ; and the hell of noise and 
confusion and jolting and wild thoughts would 
be no more. He buried his hands in the soft, 
worked soil — just to feel the good clean dirt 
between his fingers. Why, a cornfield was just 
like home. How many years had he and Herbert 
ploughed and planted and cultivated in just such 
fields as this! What was this he had hold of? 
Not a sheet surely? A sheet in a cornfield? Oh, 
no! The boys had made him a bed there of course. 
But there were no sheets in the army. And this 
was one over him, too. Was he still dreaming? 
He felt altogether too drowsily comfortable and 
at peace for that. Dreams were hideous night- 


DELIRIUM 


269 


mares, and this, why, this was the very antipodes 
of nightmare. Was it possible that he had been 
bathed — first in warm, soapy water, and then in 
deliciously clear and cool? He had no recollection 
of it, but he felt as if he had. It was a familiar 
feeling. He had felt exactly that way often 
after he had come in dirty and over-heated from 
the thrashing, perhaps, and his mother had helped 
him with just such a resty, luxurious bath, and 
he had then snuggled down to calm, untroubled 
sleep. He was very sleepy now. He should 
drift off presently. He felt that he would be 
glad to go this time. He was just tired enough 
and rested enough from his bath and drowsy 
enough from its languorous influence to welcome 
the sinking into sweet and dreamless forgetful- 
ness ; but first he must figure out — sheets and a 
clean gown in a cornfield with the sun setting — 
oh, no, it was the lamp setting — but lamps do n’t 
se t — and yet here was a lamp burning dimly on 
the table. Now where did it come from? It was 
good of old Zack to stay by him and rub his head. 
It had throbbed so all along; but it was easier 
now. Cornfields were the very devil of places 
for ghosts. Suppose Zack should see a “ hant? ” 
Would he stay or would he run? “ Stay, Zack,” 
he whispered. “Don’t leave me, old chap. I 

I ’m pretty weak — and you know there are 

no ghosts. I ’ve told you so a thousand times.” 


270 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


“ What is it? Did you speak? Is there some- 
thing you want? ” 

A woman’s voice — by cracky! He might 
have known! Zack’s horny hand could never 
have given that soft, light, soothing touch in all 
its born days of chopping, climbing, hunting and 
fishing. A woman’s voice! He was in a house. 
He had on clean linen. He lay between clean, 
sweet-smelling sheets. He believed he had been 
bathed. He was very grateful for all these things 
but languidly unconcerned as to how they had 
come about. He accepted the situation unques- 
tioningly. However, he should like to know who 
the woman was. She was a right royal one — he 
knew that. He should like to know her name. 

“ Who are you? ” he asked. 

This time she understood. 

“ I am Ben Rebeir’s wife — Ben Rebeir, the 
scout, you know,” she replied, softly. “ Had n’t 
you better go to sleep now? ” and Sammy, do- 
cilely acquiescent, went to sleep. 

For the third time, Sammy opened his eyes to 
the light of consciousness, and for the second 
time to the touch of a gentle, womanly hand upon 
his forehead. Whoever Ben Rebeir, the scout, 
might be, his wife was a queen among women. 
There was no denying that. He felt more com- 
fortable than he had for a long, weary while, and 
he lay quietly in the clean white bed, too weak to 


DELIRIUM 


271 


question, too content to wonder — just drinking 
in the bright morning sunshine which came pour- 
ing in through the open window, and reveling in 
the light cool breeze playing upon his face. Birds 
were chirping, twittering, calling to each other 
from the summer-laden boughs of the trees out- 
side his window. From somewhere near, a horse 
whinnied, and then a dog barked; and mingled 
with these other pleasant, homey sounds, he could 
hear a hen clucking to her brood of downy chicks, 
and heard their soft, wondering, young peep, 
peep, peep, as they followed her trustingly 
around this strange, big, beautiful world into 
which they had been born. In another part of the 
house, a woman was singing softly to the not in- 
harmonious accompaniment of the clink and 
splash of dishes being washed. It was all very 
homey, very sweet and restful. Could it be pos- 
sible that he was back home on the little Indiana 
farm? He began to think so. No hand but 
mother’s could stroke a tired forehead so ten- 
derly, so comfortingly, so altogether satisfy- 
ingly, as that. He had been ill and they had sent 
him home to get well. God was good — and so 
was Colonel W ashbum. 

“ Is that you, mother?” he asked, simply, the 
memory of Ben Rebeir’s wife thousands of miles 
away just then. 

The hand was quickly withdrawn, but the 


272 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


verbal response was not so quick. In fact, 
“ mother ” was a long time in answering. Then 
a low voice, an infinitely sweet and gentle and 
womanly voice said, softly: 

“ No, this is not your mother. This is your 
nurse. You have been very ill but you are much 
better now.” 

Sammy was silent for a little while, taking this 
in. He had been so long gone that he could not 
re-adjust himself to worldly affairs without much 
mental labor. 

“ You are still Ben Rebeir’s, the scout’s, wife 
then? ” he asked at last, slowly, without turning 
his head from its comfortable angle on the pil- 
low. “ Pardon me if I seem — unduly inquisi- 
tive. Things change so — it is hard to keep a 
grasp on them — in their dizzy flights. You have 
been very good to me. If you are not my mother, 
I am glad you are Ben Rebeir’s wife,” he added, 
with just a touch of his old whimsicality. 

“ I am sorry to disappoint you so often,” the 
delicious voice contradicted, smilingly, “ but I 
am not Ben Rebeir’s wife.” 

This was a poser. It bowled Sammy, with his 
pride of newly-gained consciousness, completely 
over. Evidently, he was going away again — 
or was already gone. For here was another mys- 
tery, and a mystery had directly preceded every 
one of his previous goings-away. Here was nei- 


DELIRIUM 


273 


ther cornfield nor scout’s wife nor the dream of 
home nor the horror of delirium — but that last 
would surely come again if he were indeed going 
off. Oh, if he could only hold himself from go- 
ing! Why, he was being granted a little grace! 
He was staying longer than ever before! He 
was still here! Could it be that he was here to 
stay this time? It was too good to be true! 

There was no doubt that Sammy had pro- 
gressed in his unconscious struggle for life, for in 
place of the old indifference as to whom certain 
voices belonged which had sometimes inexplicably 
stood forth alone out of the myriads of voices 
and hellish confusion of his delirium, he all at 
once developed an over-weening curiosity as to 
the ownership of the voice which did not belong 
to Ben Rebeir’s wife. To his grateful surprise 
he found he could turn his head if he gave his 
undivided attention to the transaction — so he 
turned it, and rested his tired, sunken blue eyes, 
shadow-circled, full upon the roguishly smiling, 
finger-pressed-to-lips face of Sara Brown. This 
surprise was so much greater than any which had 
preceded it, and so different, that it must not be 
allowed to slip away into the mists of vague un- 
realism whither those others had gone before; and 
yet he was too weak to give vent to it, to exclaim 
over it, or to wonder at it. He could only look 
up at her happily, contentedly, without question. 


274 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


Presently, he whispered with the shadow of a 
smile: 

“ Was n’t there a cellar to hide in this time? ” 

She shook her head smilingly. 

“ At least, I do n’t know whether there is or 
not,” she said. “ I have n’t had time to investi- 
gate the possibilities in that direction. You have 
kept us all pretty busy with your — tantrums.” 

“ Us all? ” 

“ To be sure — Zack, and Mr. Selvin, and Mrs. 
Rinehart, and John, and me. It took us all. 
You have been an obstreperous patient.” 

“ Mrs. Rinehart?” 

“ Your hostess.” 

“ Then who was — Ben Rebeir’s wife? ” 

“ She nursed you before you were brought to 
Helena. You were there a week. When you are 
well, which won’t be very soon if you persist in 
keeping up this gossip, you must never forget 
that you owe your life to — the scout’s wife.” 

“ I shall not forget.” Pie closed his eyes 
wearily. The strain of even this short conversa- 
tion had nearly exhausted him. He opened them 
soon, however. There was something he must 
say. “ Nor you,” he whispered. “ Neither shall 
I forget you. It seems that I have had two 
guardian angels when I — needed them sorely. 
What have I ever done to deserve it? Some day, 
when I ’m stronger I will say, 4 Thank you! ’ ” 


DELIRIUM 


275 


“I only helped the boys. You must thank 
them. Mrs. Rinehart was too busy a woman to 
devote all her time to you. Some one else was 
needed. It was Zack who told me about you. I 
met him on the street one day. Those boys have 
been wonderful nurses. Your old Captain told 
me how faithfully they had stood by you night 
and day all the way from Batesville.” 

“ They are the best friends a man ever had,” 
said Sammy, simply. 

“ And now you must not talk any more,” said 
Sara, with quiet firmness. She moved softly 
about the bed, arranged the pillows deftly, and 
smoothed the crumpled, patch-work counterpane. 
From a small table near-by, neatly covered with 
a spotless damask napkin gladly brought forth 
at the instigation of that sweet new nurse from 
the drawer where the “ company things ” were so 
zealously and so religiously hoarded, she took a 
bowl and a silver spoon and sat down at the bed- 
side. She was unchanged except that the wom- 
anly little face was older and sadder looking than 
the few short months warranted. Perhaps she 
had seen much of war since last they had met — 
much of its suffering and woe. It hurt him to 
think of it. Always she was in the enemy’s coun- 
try. If only he might persuade her to go North. 
He would try — when he was strong enough to 
rejoin his regiment. Meanwhile, there were a 


276 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


million and one things he must know about her 
before he dared to sleep. The continued pres- 
ence of his normal mind was telling upon his 
bump of curiosity. 

“ Are you a regular army nurse now? ” he 
asked, with elaborate carelessness, and with a 
deep intent to frustrate her evident intention of 
tolling him off to sleep. 

“ For this case, anyway,” she assured him, 
lightly. “ The boys have put me in charge . They 
were all fagged out, poor fellows — but that was 
far from being the chief reason for my install- 
ment as head nurse. They thought that I might 
be able to ‘ boss ’ you better and — I think I am. 
So you are to take your nourishment at once and 
then go to sleep. You talked enough when you 
were out of your head to last you a long, long 
time. Now go to sleep.” 

He took the thin gruel docilely at first because 
her hand gave it — then eagerly and his eyes 
pleaded for more. 

“ Enough for this time,” she announced, 
calmly, but with a firmness not to be gainsayed. 
She stepped quietly to the open window through 
which was wafted the fragrance of June roses 
and honeysuckle and lowered the blind. “ Let ’s 
play it ’s night now and go to sleep,” she added, 
with gentle insistence. 

There was much of the capable, well-trained 


DELIRIUM 


277 


nurse in her quiet, watchful, efficient, plainly 
gowned presence; but there was a touch of the 
maternal, also, in the compassionate sympathy, 
the hovering tenderness, and Sammy found him- 
self drifting deliciously along on the calm 
strength of that God-given combination until he 
was about to sink into the depths of the restful, 
peaceful slumber which was the earnest of his 
turn for the better — at last, when he roused him- 
self to ask drowsily: 

“ You did n’t tell me after all.” 

“ Will you promise me to go to sleep if I tell 
you that one thing?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Well, then, I have helped some — I hope to 
do more. I am a volunteer — like you, not a 
regular.” 

“ Are we in Helena? ” 

“ We are. I told you that before.” 

“ When did you come here? ” 

“ I shall not tell you,” she reproved him, 
eravelv. “ You have broken your promise, bad 
little boy.” 

“ My head feels awfully funny. Rub it, won’t 
you, as you were doing when I woke up? ” 

He was not so far gone but that he hoped for 
a little rush of tell-tale color in her face or a hint 
of shyness in the calm, sincere eyes, and was 
deeply chagrined when he saw them not. 


278 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


“ Sleep is far better than hands for aching 
heads,” she vouchsafed, judicially. 

“ Where did you find your father? ” he asked. 

No answer. 

“ Is he here with you? ” 

No answer. 

“ Did you get my last letter telling about that 
young Selvin lad? He found himself at Pea 
Ridge, I think. He will make a good soldier.” 

Continued silence. 

“ Did you have any more trouble with Guer- 
rillas?” 

She arose and tiptoed softly to the door. 

“ Zack will be just outside — should you need 
anything,” she said. 

“ Oh, please come back,” he pleaded, plain- 
tively, in a very panic of remorse. “ I ’ll be good. 
I never could go to sleep if you left me now for 
I ’d fear you ’d never come back. Please! I ’m 
most gone now,” he wheedled. 

He smiled contentedly when she once more 
returned to his bedside as if she were humoring a 
fractious child. 

“ I ’m going — I’m gone — good-night, good 
little girl.” 

But just before he really was off, he felt again 
that soft cool touch upon his forehead and sank 
smilingly to sleep. 

Another time, at twilight, when a summer rain 



June days 












. 












DELIRIUM 


279 


was falling, straight and warm and gentle before 
the open window, he awoke from a long sleep 
and asked her whom Colonel Washburn had 
meant — back there in the cornfield. He had 
been dreaming. 

Oddly enough, she evinced no surprise. Per- 
haps Zack had told her — perhaps Colonel Wash- 
burn himself. She leaned over him with a baffling 
expression in her eyes. 

“ Why, he meant you, Captain” she said, and 
glided from the room. 

Those June days following were the newly 
commissioned young Captain’s beads of devotion 
— but they could not last. He could not hold 
them and count them over and over. In a week, 
he was so much stronger that a change was the 
next move in the natural order of military events. 
It was through Zack who had accidentally met 
her upon the street one day that Sara Brown had 
come to nurse him. With Zack’s connivance, she 
sent word to Herbert Goodman who appeared 
upon the scene, bronzed and grave from his ardu- 
ous, devoted service at the front, but the com- 
fortable, capable, trusted, idolized big brother 
still, and who bore the pale shadow of Sammy off 
to Jefferson Barracks where he proceeded to 
nurse and diet him back to health again. 


CHAPTER XVII 


HOME ON LEAVE OF ABSENCE 

T HE old Eighteenth, now a worthy regiment 
indeed since the “ making fit” campaign 
against Sterling Price and the trial by fire at 
Pea Ridge, was back in Missouri, and the heart of 
Sammy yearned toward it mightily. Jefferson 
Barracks was a prison, the “ flowery ease ” palled. 
Surgeon Herbert was an inexorable tyrant — 
though between times, when the grave, worn sur- 
geon was forgotten in the big brother, lying at 
length upon the soft green turf under spreading 
trees outside Ward D where Sammy was con- 
valescing, with gaze idly wandering over the old 
wooden barracks occupying three sides of the 
square, also utilized for hospital purposes, or 
staring dreamily upwards into the far away, 
shimmering blue sky flecked with diaphanous 
white clouds, or watching Hospital Corps assist- 
ants in their tidy uniforms softly flitting hither 
and thither on their errands of service, the two 
brothers grew very close together indeed, closer 
than they had ever been before, even when they 
had loved each other most. Eleven domineered 
280 


HOME ON LEAVE OF ABSENCE 281 


over seven; seventeen merely tolerated thirteen; 
but the twenties recognized no digits between, 
neither ascending nor descending — perhaps be- 
cause the shadow of the coming parting, which 
in war time may always be but the projection of 
the shadow of the longer parting, blotted them 
all out — and twenty-four and twenty were com- 
rades in the truest sense of the word. 

Finally, neither the surgeon, big brother, nor 
comrade could hold Sammy longer. He was 
discharged from the hospital and immediately 
rejoined his company. The regiment spent the 
entire fall and winter campaigning in Missouri. 
There was little real fighting, but many bitter 
marches in inclement weather, and the results of 
the long arduous campaign were very meager. 
Most of the time was spent in following bands 
of Guerrillas who would never stand and fight, 
but, when approached, would scatter and fade 
away into the mountains. But at the close of 
it, the Eighteenth was hardened to the fine dura- 
bility of steel. It was, pitifully enough, the sur- 
vival of the fittest; but those fit were very fit, 
indeed, hard-muscled, lean, keen-eyed, strong of 
nerve and will. And how soon they had need of 
it all! 

About the first of April Sammy secured a 
leave of absence, his first, and a few days later, 
came into his home town of Huntingburg on the 


282 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


stage. Many and many a time around the camp 
fire, on the march, he had dreamed of coming 
home like this, and wondered if it was ever to be. 
And now he was come, and on a day of his 
dreams, a day in the spring of the year, when the 
air was warm and balmy, and pink and sweet with 
the color and scent of peach blossoms; when all 
the birds were singing joyously of reunion and 
nesting and long summer days. The woods were 
full of birds. They flashed through the flecks of 
sunshine on the shaded old stage road. They bal- 
anced themselves nicely on slender wings which 
quivered beneath their airy burden, cocking feath- 
ery heads at the lumbering stage wagon, and 
peering cunningly through the veil of new green 
leaves, or scolding deliciously at the unwonted 
intrusion — all unafraid, but poised for instant 
flight if it should prove an unexpected danger. 
Yes, he was coming home at last, home to be 
coddled and waited upon and admired; home to 
sleep in a soft, billowy, feather bed — oh, the 
hard, ungiving ground of a bivouac — home to 
awaken in the fragrant, dewy morning to the 
pleasant sound of frying chicken or sputtering 
ham, to catch and to hold the delicious aroma of 
real coffee, and to turn over restfully with the 
comfortable realization that there was no hurry, 
mother would keep it hot. Oh, the hard-tack and 
the beans and the parched com and the “ dish- 


HOME ON LEAVE OF ABSENCE 283 


water ” that had honor thrust upon it when it was 
undeservedly called coff ee ! And oh, the hurry in 
the gloom and damp of the early dawn, and the 
weariness and the dreariness of it — and the 
heart-clutching roll of the drums! A day of his 
dreams ! A day in tune with his joyous thoughts ! 

To his surprise, he had no sooner leaped from 
the stage, his feet seemingly as light as his heart, 
than he was literally surrounded by old friends 
and acquaintances clamoring for recognition, for 
a word, a hand-shake. He had sent no word of 
his coming. He was still young enough to enjoy 
perpetrating a surprise on the folks at home. So 
long had he been as a grain of sand on the sea- 
shore, as a leaf in the forest, as a blade of grass 
on the prairie — one of many — that he had for- 
gotten how clothed in importance was a return- 
ing son to a small community, and how far a 
brave new uniform can be seen on the highroad, 
when the hearts of people see uniforms in their 
dreams at night, sometimes bonny and blue — 
sometimes bonny and gray — oh, many, many 
times, dimmed and torn and darkly red. 

“ Howdy, Sammy! ” “ Howdy, there, Sammy 
Goodman!” “Lord, Lord, ef it ain’t Sammy 
Goodman in the flesh, I do n’t know what I ’m 
a-talkin’ about ! “ Sammy Goodman — an’ 
I ’ve knowed him sence he was knee-high-ter-a 
grasshopper! An’ he ’s home — an’ he ain’t got 


284 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


kilt yit — well, well, I swan ter goodness ! ” 
“We’re powerful glad ter see you safe home, 
Sammy. Yer mam ’ll be purt-nigh flabber- 
gasted with surprise. She ’lowed jist yistiddy 
when she was ter town that they’d wait till you 
was dead before they ’d let you come home.” 
These and similar greetings kept Sammy busy 
smiling and shaking hands first with this one and 
then with that, but, glad as he was to see them 
all, his heart hungered to be on the old woods 
trail, flying home to the “ hewed log ” cabin on 
Crooked Creek. 

“ How ’ll they git along without you, 
Sammy? ” one friendly wag demanded in pre- 
tended concern. “ The Union would n’t dast ter 
fight without you! Did the Johnny Rebs grant 
a truce jist ter ’low you ter take a run down home 
for a few days? Golly Moses! How us all do 
shine with reflected glory! ” 

“No use fighting till I get back, Mart! ” re- 
torted Sammy, with like and ready good nature. 
“ It would only be a wicked waste of good pow- 
der and shot. The Johnnies aren’t as dumb as 
you think they are. They ’ll wait for me, never 
fear!” 

“What’s the news? Give us the news, 
Sammy! ’* implored the older and graver heads. 
“ Where ’s Grant now? Is he ever going to take 
Vicksburg? How many men’s he got? Ain’t 


HOME ON LEAVE OF ABSENCE 285 


he awful slow about it? Where ’s the Eighteenth 
now? Why did n’t Zack Posey come back with 
you for a furlough? Do you ’low Grant ’s a good 
general? ” 

But he broke away at last and was off on the 
home stretch — a mile and a half, now through 
sunny cleared fields already green with tiny 
shoots of growing things, the old familiar road 
bordered here and there with rail fences over 
which tangled blackberry vines, already burst- 
ing into leaf and flower, clambered riotously, 
now through strips of timber, softly shadowed, 
it, too, vibrant with the multitudinous murmur- 
ing of the beginnings of life, of bird and beast and 
crawling thing. This time, Sammy watched a 
tiny snake wriggle out of his path to the safety 
of the tangle of wayside undergrowth without 
lifting his hand against it, and smiled, remember- 
ing another day when he had killed a snake, just 
because it was a snake, when he was unaccount- 
ably loath to do it. He understood himself bet- 
ter now. Ah, life, life, life! Have not all an 
inherent right to it? If some one must answer 
for war, must not some one also, sometime, have 
to answer for killing even snakes? God gave 
them life. And God said, “ Thou shalt not 
kill ! ” But how then, if they be poison — one can 
keep out of the way! It is a large world. There 
is much room in it. But, a righteous war — ah, 


286 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


well, God pity those who make a righteous war 
necessary, not them who must fall in it! 

In boyish glee, Sammy left the road which ran 
directly past the house, when he was about a 
quarter of a mile from home, and struck through 
a last bit of timber. This would insure his not 
being seen until he wished it — until he was upon 
them — when he would walk into their presence, 
the presence of mother and sisters, unannounced 
— from nowhere — and watch the look of star- 
tled surprise leap into instant and joyous and 
loving recognition. 

When almost within hailing distance and the 
trees were thinning, though still veiling the 
house, he heard voices, and, stepping softly, he 
slipped from tree to tree until he was close 
enough to observe the speakers and to distin- 
guish their words, himself safely concealed be- 
hind the trunk of a giant beech, with a further 
screening of a thin thicket of ash. He had not 
been mistaken in the sweet, treble, earnest voice 
of the child. It belonged to his little sister, Ama 
Jane. She stood looking valiantly, even defi- 
antly, up into the face of a big, loosely knit, 
slouching-formed fellow — Bob Halstead! He 
was nowhere in the army then. Sometime ago, 
Mollie had written — in the vein of scorn which 
all young women and nearly young women of 
that day, especially they of the border states 


HOME ON LEAVE OF ABSENCE 287 


where the war spirit was an all pervasive spirit, 
to the absolute subordination, nay, to the well- 
nigh extinction of aught else, employed in 
thinking or speaking of those young men who, 
for one reason or another, had not enlisted, were 
not at the front — that Bob Halstead was still 
hanging around holding to his mother’s apron 
strings, she reckoned. “ Too bad he is n ? t old 
enough to go to the war,” she had added, with 
the righteous irony of those whose nearest and 
dearest had gone. “ Seems a pity when he ’s so 
big — and the Union needs big men, does n’t it, 
Sammy? And if, as people are saying, he should 
fight on the other side, maybe he’d be killed in 
battle. Anyway, he w r ould n’t be doing the harm 
that he is here, even if he was n’t killed. I think 
that a sneak is lots worse than a brave man if 
he is on the wrong side, don’t you, Sammy?” 
And he had wondered what Bob Halstead was 
up to, now. 

Ama Jane’s dark, tangled locks shaded a pe- 
culiarly earnest, forceful, positive, but, withal, 
piquant little face, with eyes of deepest Sammy- 
blue; and the look of self-confidence, of unshak- 
able assurance, and of rapt hero-worship with 
which she faced her antagonist in what was evi- 
dently a hotly pitched word-duel, was startlingly 
amusing to Sammy, even while his heart swelled 
with tenderness for her stanch companionship. 


288 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


“Where is Sammy now? ” he heard Bob ask. 

“ He ’s in Company E, Eighteenth Indiana 
Regiment, fighting for the Government, trying 
to make a settlement, why aren’t you there?” 
replied Ama Jane, promptly, fearlessly, proudly, 
her voice limpid yet with the baby lisp. 

“Great Caesar’s ghost!” thought Sammy, in 
a panic lest he should laugh and spoil it all, while 
all the strings of him thrummed with the sweet- 
ness of her touch upon the harp of his big brother 
being. “Is that my little sister, Ama Jane 
Goodman? Now, I ’d like to know who put her 
up to all that? She always was an original little 
rip and I ’ll wager she just gathered that stuff 
together her own little elfin self from listening 
to her elders.” 

“ Oh, and you think I ’d ought to be, do you, 
little smarty?” demanded Bob, sourly. (“If 
you can’t appreciate that, Bob,” said Sammy to 
himself, “you are worse than I thought you 
were!”) “Well, if I was in the war, I’d be 
on the other side. How ’d you like that? ” 

“ That ’s what mam said, but she said you 
were such a big coward you were afraid to fight 
on either side.” 

“ Have a care, little sister,” breathed Sammy. 
“ Do n’t badger or trust him too far. He might 
have a bat somewhere around handy. I am 
mighty glad I am here! ” 


HOME ON LEAVE OF ABSENCE 289 

“Your mam’s too smart. The boys are all 
a-gettin’ down on her for doin’ so much talkin’. 
She ’d better keep her old mouth shut or she ’ll 
wish she had.” 

Sammy stepped from behind the concealing 
tree and came forward. Not so very long ago, 
he would have been in a towering rage and would 
have demanded instant satisfaction for those 
words. Even now, had there been outsiders who 
might have misunderstood them or their source, 
he might have fought then and there for the 
honor of “ mam ” as he had done for the honor 
of “ pap ” years ago, but there was no one pres- 
ent but loyal Ama Jane and himself, no one un- 
less one counted the birds and the other folk of 
the forest. There was no need to resent the atti- 
tude of a snake in the grass who had hissed when 
a good woman went by — and Bob was like to a 
snake — -let him wriggle away to safety and live 
his little life in peace — with the rest of the hiss- 
ing kind. 

“You are a mighty brave young man, Bob, 
when it comes to fighting women and children 
— ” he began, but got no farther, for, with a 
wild scream of rapture, Ama Jane threw herself 
into the arms of her idolized brother. 

“ Oh, Sammy, where did you come from? Oh, 
I am so glad, so glad! Sammy, Sammy, Sammy, 
my Sammy! Is the war over? Did we beat? Are 


290 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


you home to stay? Oh, my Sammy, my Sammy, 
my Sammy ! ” she cried over and over again in 
ecstasy. 

Sammy himself was much moved. The baby 
sister was very, very dear to him. She had been 
such a tiny, helpless thing when the father had 
been forced to leave her; and in his boyish way, 
meeting the responsibility which had come to him 
after the tragedy of all their lives, he had tried 
to father the little elfin creature, the pathos of 
whose life was that she could never know the 
worth of what she had lost. Over her dark head 
and clinging arms, he looked up to complete his 
greeting to Bob Halstead. 

“ I seem to have heard that you are not alone, 
that there are others around here — like you — 
who are too cowardly to fight for principle but 
who very bravely stay at home and nag and pes- 
ter the families of men who are absent fighting 
for their country.” 

“ Oh, you need n’t think because you Ve been 
away fightin’ for niggers that you kin come home 
and swell around and talk big. Jist because one 
or two struttin’ uniforms pertend to love ’em 
does n’t make this a nigger-lovin’ country. And 
you had best be purty civil to the boys if you 
ain’t hankerin’ to turn up missin’ some of these 
here nights,” boasted Bob, pridefully, bolstered 
up by the secret but strengthening knowledge 


HOME ON LEAVE OF ABSENCE 291 

that in real but unguessed truth he was not stand- 
ing alone. 

“ Oh, as to that, I should n’t be at all surprised 
if a gang of you crept up behind me some pitch 
dark night and stabbed me in the back. Go 
ahead,’’ continued Sammy, in his larger tolerance 
attaching a too little importance, perhaps, to the 
braggadocio threats of — one of the shirkers. 
“ I ’ll take my chances with a bunch like you. 
Come along, Ama, where are mother and 
Mollie? ” 

It was a happy time for the Goodmans. If 
Mollie and Ama Jane had been proud of Sammy 
in his “ store clothes,” how much more were they 
vain of his appearance in the new uniform that 
fitted his straight, soldierly figure so trimly. 
Though he was lean from the long, severe cam- 
paigning in Missouri, his shoulders were broad- 
ened and he had in every way grown into the full 
stature of a man. It soon became noised about 
in every nook and corner of the neighborhood 
that he had come home and friends came trooping 
in to bid him welcome and to inquire the latest 
news from the front; and Sammy, ever peculiarly 
sensitive to the good-will of his friends, basked 
in the genial warmth of the universal wonder and 
adulation. If, at times, he was a trifle conde- 
scending to some of the humble, unlettered folk 
who came to do him honor, he was none the less 


292 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


their friend — and grateful — and it will be re- 
membered in excuse for Sammy that he was not 
very old yet, and that the bitterest part of the 
war was yet to come. He could never be rightly 
accused of condescension after the Vicksburg 
campaign, which was very soon to call out the 
best that there was in those mighty men, Grant’s 
soldiers, who cleared the great highway of the 
Mississippi for the better treading of that better 
righteousness — “Justice to all.” 

Among the first to come were the Poseys, man 
and wife and wild little brood of tow-heads. 

“An’ how air Zack?” asked Mrs. Posey, as 
soon as etiquette permitted the question, which 
was not until all the polite conventions of the 
backwoods had been complied with, as, for in- 
stance, “ Land, how you have growed! ” “ You’re 
a-lookin’ right peart.” “ My, that air new uni- 
form is purty — it sets you off powerful well.” 
“ An’ those things over your shoulder, they ’re a 
captain’s, be they? An’ you got promoted after 
Pea Ridge?” “I ’low that air were a happy 
day fer your mam.” “ When did you git here? ” 
“ When did you start?” “ Can’t you come over 
ter sepper an’ set awhile?” “Leave General 
Grant well? ” “ How long you goin’ ter stay? ” 

But Sammy understood how she longed to 
hear about Zack and he rattled off answers to 
the polite inquiries as fast as he could and with 


HOME ON LEAVE OF ABSENCE 293 

the fewest words. He himself was much relieved 
when her “ society manner ” finally permitted 
the putting of the question which was so near her 
heart. 

“ Oh, Zack ’s getting along fine,” he said, with 
enthusiasm. “ He ’s the best and bravest man 
in my company all right — and that ’s saying a 
good deal. He ’s tough as a — rhinoceros and 
never gets sick and so far has never been 
wounded, more than a mere scratch now and 
then. He sent his love and a ‘ howdy,’ and I ’m 
glad to be able to tell you that he will be home 
in about a week now on a well-earned furlough. 
Had no trouble at all in getting it. He ’s got a 
mighty good reputation as a soldier, Zack has. 
He ’s in the way of being a regimental hero, too, 
since he rode up all alone to that Peoria battery 
at Pea Ridge and with such cool effrontery de- 
manded the Johnnie Rebs to cease firing! ” 

“ Zack always were brave,” sniffed Mrs. 
Posey, from a full heart. “ I ’lowed he ’d be 
jist fool enough ter go an ? do it all alone. Do 
you ’low he ’ll be kilt afore he gits that air fur- 
row, Sammy?” 

“Not a bit of it,” declared Sammy, stoutly. 
“ Do n’t get that into your head. Why, Zack 
bears a charmed life.” 

And then Aunt Salina Haskins blew in, little 
and gray and wiry as ever, her lined face radiant 


294 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


with the joy of the news-gatherer and news- 
disperser on the trail of a good story. Sammy 
Goodman home from the war ! Verily, she would 
have come sooner had she known sooner of his 
arrival. 

“ My Broken Dish come in purty handy?” she 
inquired, casually, after all the preliminaries 
which had so irked the craving mother soul of 
Mrs. Posey had been disposed of. 

“ Why, yes, yes, indeed, Aunt Salina,” replied 
Sammy, cordially, but in a panic of fear for 
what further questioning might bring to light. 

“ Wear well? ” 

“I should say so! But — things have to go 
through a deal of rough usage in the army, you 
know. They don’t last so long as they do at 
home.” 

“ I ’low it ’s about seen its best days then. 
Well, it’s wored out in a good cause — if my 
grandson does n’t think so,” said Aunt Salina, 
complacently. “ It ’s still a-holdin’ tergether yit 
though, I ’low? The pieces was mostly new mus- 
lin and caliker.” 

“ Well, to tell the truth,’’ said Sammy, des- 
perately, hoping to fend off being completely 
cornered, “ it is practically worn out. I ’m afraid 
we ’ll have to give it up.” 

“ You kin cut the good parts into strips an’ 
use ’em for sca’fs gin winter comes,” proffered 


HOME ON LEAVE OF ABSENCE 295 


Aunt Satina, thriftily. “ You do that, Sammy. 
I ’low there ’ll be a plenty for you an’ Zack an’ 
mebbe a strip ter spare for some pore feller who 
ain’t got no folks at hum ter do for him. Will 
you remember, Sammy? ” 

“ I ’ll do my best. It ’s a good suggestion,” 
said Sammy, his mouth twitching at the uncon- 
scious humor of her persistence in the light of 
the real and irrevocable fate of the Broken Dish. 
“ I had n’t thought of that before. Thank you a 
thousand times. Aunt Salina — and how ’s 
Susie? ” Thus he trod upon solid ground again. 

As the Poseys were leaving, Zachariah the 
elder motioned for Sammy to come out of doors. 

“ I ’low you ’ve heerd tell ’bout the things that 
have been goin’ on round these here parts 
lately? ” he drawled, when they were alone. 

“ Not very much,” replied Sammy. “ I have 
done so much talking myself since I came home 
that I am afraid I have n’t given anybody much 
of an opportunity to tell me anything. What ’s 
up now? Is the ghost still haunting Hank’s 
house? ” 

“ Well, fer purt’ nigh a year nobody ever saw 
or heerd ary thing o’ the hant, but lately it has 
come back agin. Howsomever, I wa’n’t a-thinkin’ 
o’ the hant when I called you out here, but o’ 
the gang what calls theirselves the Knights o’ 
the Golden Circle.” 


296 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


“ I have heard something about such an organ- 
ization. It is composed of rebels who are too 
cowardly to go to war, is n’t that about it? ” 

“ You hit the nail on the head that air time, 
Sammy. That ’s jist the kind o’ copperheads 
they be.” 

“ Have they ever done anything or do they 
merely talk and threaten? Do you think they 
send supplies to the South? ” 

“ Whenever they git the chanct, they do that 
air very thing.” 

“ Anything else? ” 

“ You remember Mrs. Orton, Sammy? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Well, she ’s been a-talkin’ purty strong an’ 
callin’ these here fellers cowards fer not fightin’ 
fer their country, an’ one night ’bout a week ago, 
they tuk her out an’ whipped her an’ tol’ her ter 
keep her mouth shet after this. An’ Jim 
Strong’s boy was home two or three weeks ago 
an’ he went round quite a bit tryin’ ter git some 
o’ the boys ter enlist, an’ one mornin’ he was 
found by the roadside shot dead. We ’low it 
were the Knights o’ the Golden Circle.” 

“ I suppose Bob Halstead belongs? ” 

“ He shore do, an’ some thinks that Hank is 
back an’ takin’ a part. Now, what I wanted ter 
say ter you specially was that you must be on 
your guard constant agin these here fellers. Bob 


HOME ON LEAVE OF ABSENCE 297 


an’ Hank do n’t love you none, nohow, an’ I ’m 
powerful a-feared somethin”ll happen ter you 
— ef you ain’t right smart keerful.” 

“Thank you Mr. Posey,” said Sammy, ear- 
nestly. “ You are — you have always been — a 
good friend. I shall keep my eyes open — de- 
pend upon that. I, too, believe that Hank is 
back. I sometimes think that he was never very 
far away — except for spasmodic jaunts with 
his Guerrilla brethren — and I do not doubt that 
he is one of the leaders of these Knights of the 
Golden Circle. It is altogether likely that the 
gang hold their meetings in Hank’s old house. 
When Zack gets home, we ’ll go after that ghost 
again and this time he won’t get away.” 


CHAPTER XVIII 


THE REAPPEARANCE OF THE GHOST 

Z ACK had been at home but a few short 
hours when Sammy projected a cloud upon 
his happy horizon of long hours for sleep, good 
things to eat, and much time for love-making and 
flaunting a soldier’s uniform, as unexpected and 
as startling as a clap of thunder from a clear 
sky. 

“ Now, Sammy,” he expostulated, despair- 
ingly, “ that air ’s too bad. You had n’t orter ast 
me ter do that. You know I ’m skeered ter death 
o’ hants. I would n’t ’ve ’plied for a furlough if 
I ’d knowed you was a-goin’ ter lug me off hant- 
huntin’ agin. ’T ain’t fair.” 

“ Oh, of course, if you do n’t want to go, I ’ll 
go by myself. I waited for you to come. I 
thought two heads would be better than one, and 
there ’s no one else I ’d care to trust — except 
your dad, and it ’s hardly fair to ask him. They 
might shoot, you know, but you and I are used 
to that. I thought you had certainly outgrown 
that silly superstition after all the real dangers 
you have lived through.” 

298 


THE REAPPEARANCE 


299 


“ Oh, if it was only shootin’ that a body had 
ter be a-f eared of!” said Zack, dismissing that 
premise with an indifferent shrug of the shoul- 
ders, but returning dismally to the fateful topic 
of the ghost. “ But a hant ! There ’s no countin’ 
on a hant, ’cause there do n’t nobody know what 
a hant ’s meanin’ ter up an’ do — ” 

“ Then you would rather not go? ” 

“ O’ course I ’d mther not go,” exclaimed 
Zack, in exasperation. “ But that’s not a-sayin’ 
I ain’t a-goin’. If you ’re set on bein’ a id jit, I 
’low I might as well be one, too. I ’low the 
company ’d ride me on a rail clear ter Kingdom 
Come if I went back without you. So, if you ’re 
kilt or spirited away, I might as well be, too. But 
’t ain’t fair. It ’s ornery mean, that ’s what it is. 
Seems like I ain’t never a-goin’ ter git no rest.” 
“ When do you thing it would be best to go? ” 
“Not till I’ve seen Susie, anyhow. I come 
home ter see her — an’ pap an’ mam — an’ the 
young ’uns — not hants,” replied Zack discon- 
solately. 

“ Will you go with me tomorrow night? ” per- 
sisted Sammy, relentlessly ; then, a sudden mem- 
ory of Zack’s dogged devotion and untiring care 
during those interminable thirsty weeks when he 
tossed in fever coming over him, he added, his 
voice breaking a little, “ You have never failed 
me yet, Zack. You know whom I am trying to 


300 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


run to earth — and you know why. And now 
there is a thousand times more reason why. My 
father does n’t need vengeance now — but I be- 
lieve that the safety and happiness — perhaps 
the lives — of my mother and sisters, and of 
yours, Zack, are in danger. Shall we go tomor- 
row night?” , 

“ Yes, Captain! ” said Zack, unconsciously sa- 
luting, not only his superior officer, as he would 
have done had they both been back with the regi- 
ment on the Mississippi, but this new call to duty 
as well. Duty, duty, duty! Zack’s heart was 
right, and besides he had been trained to it in a 
rigid school — war is a hard, hard master — he 
would not fail, but from the depths of his old 
nature, slow, easy-going, careless, shiftless, would 
ever come now and then the hurt, fretful cry, 
“ Seems like I ain’t never goin’ ter git no rest.” 

They did not wait in the attic for a ghostly 
illumination this time, but at midnight the two 
set out quietly for the deserted house. The April 
woods were dark, still, and heavily redolent of 
blossoming locust and poplar and other sweet- 
scented flowering things, and deep in slumber 
except for the occasional drowsy chirp of a bird 
or the slipping away of some small creature dis- 
turbed underfoot. They spoke no word but 
pressed on side by side, each intent upon his own 
thoughts. As they came out into the clearing, 


THE REAPPEARANCE 


301 


they saw a light suddenly flash out from a win- 
dow in the front room. Zack gasped and in- 
stantly began to shake — his old uncontrollable 
fear of the supernatural laying a clammy hand 
upon all his nerve centers — but he kept val- 
iantly on until, as they drew nearer, shrieks, 
unearthly moans and long wailing issued from 
the house and made night at once hideous and 
fearsome. They were overdoing the part to- 
night. In that would be their downfall. So 
Sammy reasoned, and so he believed, and yet, 
oddly enough, there entered into his conscious- 
ness at that moment, the same prickly, unearthly 
sensation which had raised the hair on his head 
that June night of two years ago when, after 
diligent search, he had acknowledged to himself 
that there was no place where the ghost might 
have gone — except through the wall, or van- 
ished into space. As for Zack, he faltered, drew 
back, came to a dead halt. But Sammy had no 
thought of consideration for him then. The 
situation was too intense to admit it. He 
dragged his reluctant companion almost to the 
very door, sagging on its hinges. 

“ Remember, Zack,” he said, in an impressive 
whisper, “ the ghost is not to get away this time! 
Whatever happens, he is not to get away! What- 
ever happens! Remember that! It is like that 
charge. We just dare not break! You stay 


302 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


here. Keep in the shadow so you can’t be seen 
or — surprised, and watch out for Hank or any 
one else. No one is to come in until I have 
routed out this masquerader. If Hank shows 
up, you will know what to do. My plan is to 
creep to the door and then rush in so suddenly 
and unexpectedly that Mr. Ghost will be taken 
by surprise. He will then be easy prey.” 

Zack agreed to this arrangement with alacrity. 

“ Now, you ’re talkin’,” he said, approvingly. 
“I ? da heap sight ruther stay out here an’ meet 
Hank, or the whole kit an’ bilin’ o’ their old 
Golden Circle, for that matter, than ter stick my 
head in at that air door.” 

Drawing a quick breath, Sammy threw open 
the drooping door and sprang across the thresh- 
old, at the same time flashing aloft a lantern 
which had been muffled under his army cloak. 
Yes, there was the ghost — the same strange, 
uncanny apparition of two years ago — the 
clinging grave clothes, the same glow of unearthly 
fire pointing out eyes, nose and mouth. It 
swayed in the dull light, and again Sammy’s 
nostrils were assailed by the damp, escaping 
odor of mildew. 

“This is child’s play!” he cried, curtly. 
“ Drop this silly masquerading! I will shoot you 
where you stand, else! You shall not get away 
this time! ” 


THE REAPPEARANCE 


303 


A low ripple of mocking laughter seemed to 
float through the dead air of the room as the 
white draperies floated through the dividing 
doorway as they had done that other time, and 
the door closed upon them. Again, upon trial, 
he found it locked. Strange, how history re- 
peated itself. Two or three vigorous kicks were 
sufficient to bring the bolted door sagging free 
from broken hinges, and, in a moment, Sammy 
was in the further room, swinging his lantern 
into every nook and comer of the tenantless 
apartment. As before, the tiny-paned windows 
were fastened upon the inside. Notwithstand- 
ing his thorough examination of two years ago 
for any sign of a trap-door in ceiling, floor, or 
walls, he went conscientiously over the same 
grounds again. 

He even tried to pry up some of the boards 
of the rough flooring, only to find them fast, 
with the dust of years filling up the cracks and 
rising in a choking cloud, stirred by his unavail- 
ing efforts. He next concentrated his attention 
upon the discolored wainscoting which met the 
rough plaster about three feet from the floor. 
There must he some hidden key to the situation 
here! He had never believed in ghosts, not 
really, but while before he had, in spite of his 
brave belief, grown cold and shaky in the pres- 
ence of this baffling mystery, now — except for 


804 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


the momentary trick of memory outside — all 
undefinable fear or shrinking from the thought 
of the supernatural was singularly wanting, and 
he prosecuted his search sanely, thoughtfully, 
determinedly. Finding nothing at all suggestive 
in the wainscoting, he returned nonplussed to the 
first room. 

“ Poor Zack,” he mused, half -humorously. 
“ He never will get over his barbaric views on the 
ghost question now. And he ’ll imagine that I 
am secretly convinced, when I had so hoped to 
convince him, let alone all other considerations. 
I won’t give up ! I wonder — I wonder — there 
must be a way out — I wonder — Gee-whilli- 
kens ! I never noticed that before ! ” 

A small door just south of the one leading to 
the room beyond had caught his speculative 
glance — unnoticed before because the ghost 
had not returned to this room, and he had not 
attached much importance to it, confining his 
exertions to the mysterious one beyond whence 
the specter had gone — and yet was not. 

Opening this smaller door quickly, he dis- 
covered a large closet nearly filled with sacks of 
grain stacked up against the inner wall. The 
blood flushed his face and receded as quickly, 
leaving him cold and trembling at the quick recoil 
of his senses from the sudden chilling question 
that leaped unasked to his brain. 


THE REAPPEARANCE 


305 


“ Was it wheat? Was it that wheat? ” 

Ah, memory, memory, memory! Was he 
never to forget? Only a moment, remembering 
a sunny, stubbled field, a whirring flock of black- 
birds, and a quiet form upon the ground, then, 
with a steady hand, but without much purpose, 
for the room beyond held the secret, he began 
pulling down the heavy sacks. During the proc- 
ess, he suddenly uncovered what seemed to be 
the top of a huge box. The effect of this find 
worked a marvelous transformation. His brain 
whirled with excitement, his hands plucked sav- 
agely at the sacks yet concealing the rest of the 
supposed box. And that is what it proved to 
be — a creepy-looking one at that, for it was 
not unlike the rough pine box around a coffin, 
only deeper. At a rough estimation, it seemed 
to be about three feet deep, three feet wide, and 
perhaps five or six feet long. 

“ At last! ” was Sammy’s first thought, a great 
relief flooding his soul and dispersing the shad- 
ows that had plunged him into such a gloom of 
despondency when he had thought his quest had 
been in vain. He hardly knew what he expected 
to find; but that he had discovered the hiding- 
place of deviltry, he did not doubt for a moment. 
“ And what an ingenious cuss ! ” he mused. “ All 
nicely nailed in! Now, how do you suppose he 
got there? Well, we will just find out.” 


306 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


With a dulled, rusty hatchet found upon the 
floor and partaking of the general look of dis- 
use, decay, and deserted forlornness which char- 
acterized the cabin and its meager equipment, he 
began prying off* the top of the box. Before 
the first nails were out, he heard something fall 
in the next room. Enlightenment entered his 
mind in a blinding flash. Snatching up the lan- 
tern, he sprang through the intervening door- 
way just in time to behold the ghost crawling 
through a large opening in the wainscoting. In 
the confusion of his unexpected and precipitate 
flight from the box, the ghost had doubtless let 
the door, the location of which had been so well 
concealed, fall with more force than he had 
anticipated, thus giving Sammy the clue to 
the whole tawdry mystery. Setting the lantern 
down quickly, he threw his arms around the hid- 
eous object as it slowly rose from the floor, 
pinioning it as in a vise. His first instinct was 
to call to Zack to come and search for concealed 
weapons while he himself held the ghost helpless 
in his arms; but he shook his head smiling dubi- 
ously as he glanced at the glowing, bluish lights 
seeming as if they would bore a hole right 
through him as he looked. 

“No, not yet. Poor old Zack would lose his 
mind, I verily believe, upon sight of — that. 
And then this is not Hank — it is too small — 


THE REAPPEARANCE 


307 


like the other time — and Hank may come. I 
need Zack out there.” 

He cautiously felt around for a gun, but find- 
ing none, he began tearing away the ghostly 
wrappings. First of all came the gleaming mask. 

“ Susie!” gasped Sammy, in amazed incredul- 
ity. “Susie Halstead! You — you — of all 
people ! Why, you were not brave enough ! Y ou 
were always a scared little thing! Why did you 
do it?” 

“ He — he ’s my own uncle — I ’low I had ter 
help him,” came the answer, in a small, stifled, 
trembling voice, all her courage gone in a mo- 
ment. She was shaking as with ague, and her 
pretty little face was as white as the grave 
trumpery she wore. 

All of Sammy’s sternness vanished, for it 
hurt him to think of the sweet, blooming, child- 
ish face with its trustful gaze that yet sparkled 
with girlish coquetry at a moment’s notice, that 
he remembered so well in Zack’s sweetheart, 
brought to such straits as this — all under the 
baleful influence of that parasite upon the bounty 
of the earth which gave him room to which he 
was not entitled — Gerry Goodman’s murderer. 
He could not understand how it had come about. 
Timid, shrinking, affectionate, simple-hearted 
little Susie Halstead, idol of good, stanch, lov- 
able, original, old Aunt Salina’s heart! There 


808 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


could be no guile in Aunt Salina Haskin’s sunny 
nature. It was as an open book. Her daughter, 
Serepta, Susie’s mother, was a singularly good 
woman for her opportunities. Whence had come 
this strain of bad blood? From the Halsteads, 
of course. But, after all, did it show such bad 
blood on her part? She had said, “I ’low I had 
ter help him.” He was her father’s brother, and 
blood, the old saying goes, is ever thicker than 
water. 

He forbore questioning her farther, for 
awhile, noting the panic of fear which gripped 
her as she stared in speechless terror at her cap- 
tor. Instead, to give her a little time, he stooped 
and picked up the fore-arm and hand of a human 
skeleton and a white mask shining with phos- 
phorous, shrugging his shoulders in derisive 
scorn that any should think to deceive him, 
Sammy Goodman, with such cheap mummery as 
this. The manner in which Susie’s refuge, when 
cornered, was concealed, was clever, very clever 
indeed ; but to play ghost on him — that was the 
weak spot in the armor of the malefactors, who- 
ever they might be. It might do for Zack and — 
others, but not for him. And yet, it had been a 
right fearsome spectacle! 

“You certainly were rigged up in a manner 
befitting old Satan himself,’’ he said at last, ad- 
miringly. “ You were enough to scare the wits 


THE REAPPEARANCE 


309 


out of any one. The trouble with you, Susie,” 
he continued, in a lower voice and very seriously, 
“ was that you forgot that I do not believe in 
ghosts — and that if I did, I should not be afraid 
of my father’s spirit.” 

At that moment, Zack came slipping into the 
room, his face alight with eager excitement. 

“ Hank’s a-comin’! ” he cried, in a hushed but 
vibrant whisper, then, catching sight of the big- 
eyed, trembling culprit who cowered against the 
wall as if to ward off recognition, he cried out in 
astonishment: 

“ Why, Susie! What on earth are you a-doin’ 
here? An’ what’s the matter? You look so 
skeered — an’ wild. You ain’t a-feared o’ me, 
air you? I ain’t no hant — honest Injun! ” 

He was too startled to comprehend all at once 
the significance of her presence in conjunction 
with the heap of ghostly paraphernalia lying 
upon the floor. 

“ It is Susie who is the ghost,” said Sammy, 
grimly. “ Is Hank alone?” 

“ An’ ter think I was a-feared o’ Susie!” said 
Zack, in a low, dazed voice, staring at her as if 
he could not believe his senses. “ But why — ” 

“ Never mind why,” interrupted Sammy, im- 
patiently, extinguishing the lantern as he spoke. 
“ We have n’t time for explanations now. Where 
is Hank — and is he alone? ” 


310 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


“ ’Peared like he was cornin’ straight here,” 
pondered Zack, coming back to the exigencies of 
the situation with difficulty, and still staring at 
Susie through the gloom. “ I did n’t see no one 
else but jist Hank. I ’low he ’s right out there 
now less ’n he mistrusted — ” 

“ Come to the other room,” cried Sammy, hur- 
riedly. “ And stand on one side the door 
while I stand on the other. When he comes in, 
we ’ll both of us nab him. If he saw the light — 
he would likely think it was Susie’s. Do n’t you 
dare to give any alarm, my girl ! It would only 
be the worse for Hank, for then we ’d have to 
shoot.” 

After giving his directions in a low voice, he 
and Zack crept softly to the outer door. Zack 
had left it ajar, and the cool, spring, night air 
drifting in served to dissipate much of the nausea 
attendant upon Sammy’s encounter with grave 
clothes and phosphorus — and how good it was 
to be waiting to deal with a man now — the man 
of all men! Susie had nonplussed him. He had 
not known what to do with Susie. She was such 
a slip of a girl — and Zack loved her — and Zack 
was, well, Zack was Zack. But he should know 
what to do with Hank! 

A moment, and they heard footsteps approach- 
ing. They had an eerie sound, though the ghosts 
of the place had been laid forever. Both Sammy 


THE REAPPEARANCE 


311 


and Zack thought of footsteps through fallen 
autumn leaves of a long ago night when Prince 
had treed a ’coon. As then, they came straight 
forward, but this time, they did not swerve. 
Hank must have deemed that all was well for he 
stepped into the dark doorway without hesita- 
tion. Instantly, the boys were upon him ; but he 
was a desperate man, and it was very dark in the 
room. He tore himself free and leaped outside. 
They followed him so quickly that there was 
neither time for him to get to the timber nor to 
hide anywhere. He turned and began to shoot. 
A great rage welled up in Sammy’s heart, re- 
membering how he had done that once before. 
The second shot was followed by a piercing 
scream, and the boys turned to see Susie throw 
up her hands in the white moonlight and fall in 
a heap just outside the door. 

“ Go quick, Zack!” cried Sammy. “Quick, 
boy! Or she will die! I must follow Hank! ” 

“ He ’ll be too much for you alone, Sammy,” 
said Zack, in a dull, aching voice. He was stand- 
ing stock still as if stunned. “ I do n’t dast ter 
leave you. Company E — ” 

“ Would you let her die there — alone? ” cried 
Sammy, fiercely. “ Go, I say. Do you dare dis- 
obey orders? ” Then he sprang after the indis- 
tinct form speeding toward the timber. 

Sammy had always been fleet of foot and he 


312 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


gained rapidly. By the time the coveted timber 
was reached, he was so close that it was once more 
impossible for Hank to turn aside and hide; for 
he could not hide sound, even if sight failed in 
the darker night of the forest. But Crooked 
Creek was just ahead and as Sammy’s arm shot 
out to seize the fugitive, he stumbled and fell 
over a twisted, exposed root, and Hank slipped 
over the high bank. Sammy sprang to his feet, 
hurried to the bank, and peered down into the 
bed of the murmering little stream; but Hank 
had disappeared. It was almost the exact spot 
where he had disappeared the night of the ’coon 
hunt. Disappointed, discouraged, sick at heart, 
he turned away at last, heaping mental epithets 
of scorn upon himself for not having fired at his 
enemy before he could reach the woods. But he 
had not wanted to kill, unless there was no other 
way, and he had thought there was another way. 
Now, he was helpless before the vastness and 
the blackness and the secrecy of the forest. He 
could only go back. 

Suddenly, he stopped as if struck with an idea, 
proceeded again for some little distance, turned 
and walked about thirty yards up the creek. 
Next, he crept toward it on his hands and knees. 
When he came to the hank of the creek, he con- 
cealed himself carefully behind a bush overhang- 
ing the edge and gazed long and yearningly 


THE REAPPEARANCE 


313 


down the stream shimmering here and there with 
patches of the late moonlight. Perhaps ten 
minutes passed away thus before his reward 
came, and already the increased chill of approach- 
ing dawn was in the air. There was a faint rus- 
tling of the brush a short distance down the creek 
bed, and presently he saw Hank creep cautiously 
out into the open at the opposite water’s edge. 
The man stood perfectly still for a moment, lis- 
tening, then began walking quietly up the stream. 
Doubtless, he had pursued the same tactics the 
night of the ’coon hunt of long ago. There was 
some secret cave somewhere in the vicinity, 
doubtless. With tense muscles, Sammy waited 
until Hank was opposite his own hiding place — 
then he bounded across the narrow creek. 

All the bitterness and hatred against this man 
for all these long, long years, and the memory of 
the beloved father gone forever, with all the cry- 
ing for him — in the night — of no avail because 
he never could come back, was nerving Sammy 
for the struggle. Hatred, love of life and lib- 
erty, fear of death, were causing Hank to fight 
with all the desperate strength there was in him. 
Back and forth they weaved across the shallow 
stream. Once, in the history of those who had 
pioneered upon its course, because it had over- 
flowed its banks, it had inadvertently caused 
death. There was seeming that there was to be 


314 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


another death struggle. But if Hank’s was the 
greater hate — the one who wrongs is ever a 
better hater than the wronged — Sammy’s was 
the greater love — love of justice and truth, and 
of the good man who had gone; and love is the 
stronger after all. Fighting for Sammy, too, 
was his cleaner life. Presently, Hank began to 
pant and his hold grew less firm; another while, 
and he fell to the ground. He reached for his 
revolver, but, before he could use it, Sammy 
wrenched it from him. 

“ I am going to turn you over to the authorities 
at once, Hank, for the murder of my father ” 
said Sammy, coldly quiet now that his end was 
accomplished. The dream of years! At last! 
At last ! “ It all depends upon you whether I 

turn you over dead or alive. I will shoot you if 
you attempt to escape. Come — we will first 
return to your house.” 

“ If I had only killed you — when you were in 
my power — back there in Missouri,” said Hank, 
in the low, brooding tone of an exceeding bitter- 
ness of spirit. 

“ Which you would have done, I believe, if you 
had n’t been frightened away first, or if we had 
been there when you returned,” said Sammy, 
curtly. 

Zack was sitting upon the ground with Susie’s 
head on his lap. He had a pan of water and was 


THE REAPPEARANCE 


315 


tenderly bathing a ragged looking wound in her 
right shoulder. Her face was white and pinched 
and infinitely pathetic in the pale moonlight. 
“ I ’m a-feared she ’s pretty hard hit,” said Zack, 
shaking his head mournfully. 

“Does it hurt much?” asked Sammy, as he 
knelt down beside the girl. “ Poor little Susie 
— and you were so brave — mistakenly so, of 
course — but oh, so brave, braver than Zack here 
who is a soldier, and yet he was afraid of a poor 
little woman mite like you,” he rallied her, hop- 
ing to win a smile which should tell him that her 
hurt was not serious. What a low-down, cow- 
ardly, brutal trick in Hank to have used this 
sweet, simple, fight-hearted granddaughter of old 
Aunt Safina so ruthlessly and selfishly for his 
own fiendish purposes! But, after all, it was 
like him. “ Tell me, Susie, does it hurt much? ” 

“Not very,” responded Susie, faintly. “It 
ain’t very bad, Sammy, Zack ’lows I ’m purt 
nigh kilt, but I ain’t.” 

“What’s the matter with you, Susie?” in- 
quired Hank, impatiently. “ Did you git skeert 
o’ yourself? ” 

“You shot me, Uncle Hank. You didn’t 
mean to — no more ’n you meant ter shoot Mr. 
Goodman,” said Susie, in a clear, steady, little 
voice, looking at no one but staring straight up 
into the shimmering star-shot sky overhead. It 


316 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


was as if her nearness to the things unseen gave 
this little unlettered backwoods maiden to see 
some earthly things more clearly. “ You git too 
mad Uncle Hank, and then that makes you do 
other things — like shoot in’ Sammy when he was 
only a little boy, and meanin’ ter shoot him now 
— when you got me instid. A body ain’t got no 
need ter git so mad.” She sighed and turned her 
head wearily on Zack’s knees. “ I ’m sorry you ’re 
took, Uncle Hank, but I ’low I ain’t a-goin’ ter 
play ghost for you no more.” 

The cocks were ushering in the dawn with loud 
voices when, leaving Hank hound and helpless 
within his own ill-fated house to await the com- 
ing of the sheriff, Sammy and Zack bore the now 
unconscious girl to the Goodman home and laid 
her gently on the company bed in the best room. 


CHAPTER XIX 


AN INTERLUDE 

S AMMY’S leave of absence was so nearly ex- 
pired as to make it imperative that the next 
day but one be the last which he dared spend at 
home. Zack came over early in the afternoon, 
presumably to relieve the tired nurses — Mrs. 
Halstead, bitterly resentful toward her husband’s 
brother, the snapping-eyed, voluble old Aunt 
Salina, for once too angry to be helpful, Mrs. 
Goodman and Mollie — and, incidentally, to see 
for himself that his suffering little sweetheart 
was not pestered into a fever by maternal fault- 
finding or grandmaternal solicitation for more 
particulars, in that lady’s insatiable lust for news. 
Oh, Zack was a famous nurse, as had been proved 
in Sammy’s case, and he gently but firmly pushed 
them all out of the room, including Sammy, who 
solemnly winked, and closed the door softly upon 
them. In the new dignity of his worn uniform, 
that badge of deep experiences, and in their 
knowledge of his good report in his regiment 
and of how he had nursed Sammy, thereby saving 
his life, he commanded a new respect and a 
317 


318 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


strange faith in his efficiency which he never 
could have done in the old days — before the war, 
and they went, unprotestingly, unquestioningly. 
And yet all he said was “ You-all clear out an’ 
rest. I ’ll set by Susie a spell.” 

He thought she was asleep — so still she was. 
The doctor had said she would get well ; but how 
very white, and thin, and ill she looked. He sat 
down by the bedside to watch over her while she 
slept, his great, loving heart swelling with pro- 
tective tenderness. It seemed as if all his old 
clumsiness had been refined away by hardship, 
so quiet and gentle were all his movements. But 
Susie was not asleep. 

“ Will they hang Uncle Hank, Zack? ” came in 
a weak little voice from the depths of the feather 
pillow. 

“ No such luck,” said Zack, gravefy. 

“ Why — Zack!” 

“ He killed the best man on this here earth, an’ 
— he nearly killed you. He deserves hangin’ — 
but he got cold feet — he knowed he wouldn’t 
stand any show if it come ter a trial — an’ the 
Court ’lowed him ter plead guilty yistiddy an’ 
sentenced him for a number o’ years. He ’d orter 
a-hung — if he is your uncle, Susie.” 

“ I ’low you ’re orful mad at me, Zack. I ’ll 
— give your ring back — if you want me to,” the 
voice was very, very low, and she fingered the 


AN INTERLUDE 


319 


cheap little gold-filled circlet flutteringly. “ I 
’low you wouldn’t keer ter keep stiddy company 
with a hant.” 

“ I always did abominate hants,” replied Zack, 
soberly. “ But the doctor said you was a-goin’ 
ter git well right soon an’ so there ain’t no dan- 
ger o’ yer bein’ a hant yit awhile, thank God! 
Play-likin’ do n’t count with me. I never was 
a-f eared o’ flesh an’ blood. You can ask Sammy 
about that.” 

“ Why, Zack,” the pale, pinched face was 
suffused with a glow that was almost pink, and 
her eyes danced like stars, “ do you mean — why, 
you ’re a soger, an’ a soger could marry anybody 
— do you mean — you do n’t mean you ’re goin’ 
ter stick by me after what I done? ” 

“ I mean that I ’m a-goin’ ter marry you jist 
as soon as ever this here war is over,” said Zack, 
with great simplicity. “ An’ now you have 
talked a passel an’ I ’low you ’d better quit awhile 
an’ rest, or you ’ll git a fever.” 

There was quiet for awhile — a long while. 
Her eyes were closed. One of his big hands lay 
quiescent upon his knee, the other upon the ex- 
quisitely hand-woven blue counterpane of the 
company bed, the kind of a counterpane that 
makes heirlooms. He was dreaming of that day 
when the war should be over. Presently, a thin, 
white, oh, a very white hand reached out and was 


320 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


laid flutteringly upon the big brown one on the 
counterpane. 

“ Zack,” it was only a whisper, “ Bob — he al- 
ways sided with Uncle Hank, an’ he jined the 
Knights of the Golden Circle ’cause Uncle Hank 
was the leader — but Gran’ma an’ mam an’ me 
— we ’re Union. I never helped the Knights, 
honest, Zack, I never did. They never were there 
at Uncle Hank’s old house. It was jist Uncle 
Hank — ’cause he wanted ter come home. It ’s 
so lonesome without a home.” 

After his summary dismissal, Sammy left the 
house and wandered rather aimlessly about the 
premises. The girls were out in the garden, 
making the most of these fair, April, planting 
days, Mollie digging the hills while Ama Jane 
dropped the potatoes. They might not even 
make holiday on this last day of all, for farm- 
ing is slow work for women and girls and means 
long hours and many, many of them. He might 
go and help. He would be royally welcomed, he 
knew, and more for his companionship than his 
labor, too, but — he did n’t just feel like it, some- 
how. He had so many things to think about; 
only, somehow, he always found himself rather 
dreaming than thinking. It was the last day. 
He did not feel much like talking, even to the 
girls. The regiment was calling him strongly. 
He was glad to go — and yet — it was the last 


AN INTERLUDE 


321 


day. It was better understood now what Gen- 
eral Grant’s long, toilsome, tedious, silent winter 
of canalling and bayou-navigating meant. He 
had only been biding his time. And when that 
military giant, who knew so well when not to 
speak as well as when to speak, his plans fully 
matured, really decided to move upon Vicksburg, 
it would be no child’s play. Many, oh, many, 
many would not come back. It was altogether 
within the probabilities that he should never see 
the sun on Mollie’s dusky brown hair again, as she 
stooped to her task, scorning sunbonnets, nor see 
Ama Jane straighten her tired little back after 
each throw, with a quaint little gesture of utter 
distaste which spoke more plainly than words 
could have done that, when she grew up, she was 
going to have servants to do her work, while she 
just read and read and wore beautiful clothes 
and went everywhere. 

So he smiled a little sadly as he turned away. 
And then, without definitely willing it so, he 
found himself after a while in the woods back 
of the old schoolhouse, and, with a whimsical sigh 
of remembrance, wandered down to the creek and 
sat down upon a stump. Could it be the same — 
verily, it was the very same stump upon which 
he sat after his fight with Bob Halstead when 
he had been worsted by treachery, and here it was 
that little Mary Ann Hamilton had come to him 


322 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


and comforted him. Dear little Mary Ann! 
She had been a true-hearted child-sweetheart, 
and a valiant. How they all came trooping 
back to him, memories of that day, as he sat 
staring dreamily at the very place in the creek 
where he had washed his face so that she might 
see that it was not all hurts — mostly just blood 
and dirt and sweat. It all seemed but yesterday ; 
and yet — how much had happened since then. 
Now, in very truth, was “pap’s” honor vindi- 
cated. He need fight for it no more. And yet — 
it could not bring his father back. Was it worth 
while? Was anything worth while except peace, 
and home, and love, and the sun in Mollie’s hair? 
Yes, a thousand times, yes, but the place brought 
it all back so poignantly, the loss, the bitterness 
of the loss he had felt that day, which all his 
fighting of Bob, and all his taking of Hank at 
last, could not lighten. There is no compensa- 
tion for a loss like that. Perhaps, in this world, 
no justice to balance the taking of life. In the 
world beyond — Ah, well, it all happened long 
ago, though it did seem but yesterday! Angry 
bitterness toward Bob for his base insinuations 
against Gerry Goodman, and resentment against 
his treacherous attack with a bat were changed 
to contemptuous indifference. It was a happier 
feeling if not a holier. All his passionate pro- 
test against the injustice of Hank’s being at 


AN INTERLUDE 


323 


large while his father had to go was exorcised 
at last by the consummation of his fierce desire. 
The physical suffering which he had endured — 
war made him laugh at boyish bruises. While the 
one bright spot in the memories of that day, 
Mary Ann Hamilton and her sweet, shy sym- 
pathy, he dwelt upon with smiling tenderness 
and knew that he would cherish it forever. 

A light footstep behind him. Could it be 
Mary Ann? He was still under the spell of 
memory and at that moment it seemed the most 
natural thing in the world that little Mary Ann 
should come tripping up behind him as she had 
that winter’s day in the long ago which now 
seemed but yesterday. He sat perfectly still, 
fearing to dispel the illusion. Two soft, cool 
hands were placed over his eyes. 

“ Mary Ann,” he said, aloud. 

“ Wrong. Guess again,” a soft voice whis- 
pered. 

“ I give up!” and Sammy reached up to take 
hold of the hands to remove them, but, of their 
own accord, they were hastily withdrawn. He 
turned quickly. 

“ Sara Brown! ” he cried, springing to his feet, 
all at once the light of the world in his eager 
eyes. 

“ Right ! ” was the laughing reply. “ You are 
an excellent guesser — when you can see. How 


324 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


disappointing, after all one’s dreams, to wake up 
and find — just prosaic, old me, army nurse and 
wdiilom tyrant, in the place of — Mary Ann, 
sweetheart. I ’m awfully sorry I intruded. 
Father and I were passing and I saw you come 
here — but I rather thought you would say, ‘ The 
scout’s wife.’ You used to think everybody was 
she, you remember.” 

“ I would rather it was you than any other 
person on earth,” replied Sammy, earnestly, hold- 
ing her hands, which had so cleverly tricked him, 
in a close, firm grasp. “And I think you know 
it. There has never been anyone but you. I 
have loved you since the day I found you — in 
the cellar. I wanted to tell you at Helena, but 
you sent for Herbert and went away. You have 
always been a mystery. You are here — you are 
there — like the genii. You come like the sun in 
the morning but you flit away again like a thief 
in the night. But I know you now. You are 
destiny — and I shall not let you go again.” 

“ Oh,” she said, her breath coming a little 
quickly, but smiling mischievously still, “ but 
Mary Ann — you were expecting her — waiting 
for her — to keep tryst here — at some old re- 
membered meeting place — ” 

“Mary Ann is a child — a memory,” he ex- 
plained, simply. “ I was thinking about a day 
when we were boy and girl at school, here in the 


AN INTERLUDE 


325 


woods by Crooked Creek, and she was good to 
me, when you came slipping up behind me. I 
thought I was a boy again. There never has 
been any one but you. How or why you are here, 
you can tell me later — if you want to. Now, I 
only want your promise. Will you marry me 
when I come back, Sara Brown? ” 

How still it was there on the banks of the fate- 
ful little stream. It alone rippled and mur- 
mured and babbled ceaselessy, for it talked of the 
mysteries, which are without end. She had tried 
to free her hands, but he was too strong for her 
and too determined. If she were a dryad of the 
wood, ready to scamper away into invisibility by 
way of some giant tree trunk, at least the miracle 
should be performed before his very eyes, out of 
his very hands. She was bare-headed, her poke- 
bonnet with its delicious pink rosebuds swinging 
over her arms, and was clad in a soft, dainty 
spring gown, so altogether unlike her severely 
plain garb of their other meetings that it was 
little wonder he likened her to a wood-nymph. 
She seemed the very spirit of April — of the 
spring. Her brown eyes were wistful, down- 
cast. There was a breathlessness in the waiting 
— even as there was a breathlessness in the for- 
est. The sun had disappeared behind a bank of 
clouds in the west which had been steadily creep- 
ing up till it was now almost overhead, and all 


326 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


the forest awaited in still awe the coming of the 
April rain. It had been a warm day. The storm 
would be a heavy one. But neither of the young 
people there by the dimpling stream was think- 
ing of the approaching thunder shower at all. 
They were both a little pale. 

“ Father is waiting for me — yonder,” she said, 
at last, in a low voice, not yet daring to meet his 
eyes which were fixed so steadfastly upon the 
drooping head. “ I saw you come here, as I said, 
and I followed you — to surprise you. I knew 
you would be surprised to see me in Indiana. But 
I must be going now, father is waiting.” 

She looked up suddenly, looked him straight 
and full in the eyes, in her own, the old baffling 
look of the ages of womankind. Were they smil- 
ing — were they weeping — were they challeng- 
ing — were they mocking — were they kind or 
cruel — were they sad or glad or mad? Heaven 
alone knew — not Sammy Goodman. A moment 
she dazzled him thus, a hesitating, palpitating, 
questioning moment, then she said, quietly: 

“ Good-by, Captain Goodman. Do n’t get 
killed if you can help it. You are such a ramp- 
ant forgetter — in a battle.” 

“ You have not answered my question,” he 
persisted, steadily. 

“ Why, the storm is almost here,” she cried out, 
suddenly, as the thunder at that moment began 


AN INTERLUDE 


327 


rolling and muttering over the tree-tops. There 
was a strange twilight in the forest. “ I must 
run — good-by! ” 

But he held her. 

“ Come to the' house,” he cried, quickly. 
4 4 When the storm is over, you may go wherever 
you were going. Quick now, before we run for 
it — will you marry me, Sara Brown? ” 

44 Sara Brown will never marry you,” she made 
answer, quite calmly, though her hands were 
trembling. 44 Sometime, perhaps, you will know 
why. Not now. Good by, and remember, oh, 
remember , Captain, that I will be praying every 
day and every night that you may come back 
to us.” 

He was so dazed, so hurt, so bitterly disap- 
pointed, that he let her go. There seemed noth- 
ing else to do. The end of the world was come. 
He stood where she had left him a long, long 
time, with bent head and unseeing eyes. The first 
rain-drops were pattering on the new leaves of 
the forest when at last he turned to leave the 
little woodland scene and walked slowly home- 
ward. 


CHAPTER XX 


WHERE THE SWEET MAGNOLIA BLOSSOMS GREW 
AS WHITE AS SNOW ” 

S AMMY rejoined the regiment at Milliken’s 
Bend just before the batteries at Vicksburg 
were run, fifteen miles of them, without loss of 
life; all honor to the fearless, indomitable-souled 
Admiral Porter for it. The lack of casualties 
was the more remarkable in that the blockade was 
run, of necessity, because of the Confederate an- 
ticipatory activity, by the brilliant light of huge 
bonfires on the east side of the river and of burn- 
ing houses opposite the city on the Louisiana side. 
The hazardous but momentous undertaking, 
splendidly conceived, was splendidly executed, 
and the spectacle of it was weird, magnificent, 
awful. 

Admiral Porter with his eight gunboats find- 
ing Grand Gulf as impossible of taking by a 
front attack as Vicksburg on account of its lo- 
cation on a lofty bluff with the river laving its 
very feet, ran also these batteries, the night 
of the twenty-ninth of April. The Thirteenth 
Army Corps, Major-General McClernand corn- 

328 


“ WHERE MAGNOLIAS GREW ” 329 


manding, of which the Eighteenth Indiana was a 
part, now in General Carr’s Division, was march- 
ing under cover of the night across the point of 
land on the west side extending toward Grand 
Gulf — the top of a levee making it possible for 
the troops to move over an otherwise wholly im- 
practicable stretch of low wet land — to meet the 
gunboat fleet and the transports under its es- 
cort, when Zack returned to the regiment. Its 
roster and ranks were then as full as they had 
been since Pea Ridge. 

On the morning of the thirtieth of April, 1863, 
the Eighteenth Indiana and other portions of 
the Thirteenth Army Corps were landed by 
transports at Bruinsburg, on the rebel side of 
the river at last, and, during the day, the bal- 
ance of the Corps and one Division of the Seven- 
teenth Army Corps, Major-General McPherson 
commanding, was landed. Grant was at last, 
after months of yearning and of waiting, in the 
enemy’s country, but with a 44 vast river and the 
stronghold of Vicksburg ” between him and his 
base of supplies — and he had twenty thousand 
men with whom to begin this gigantic campaign 
as opposed to sixty thousand, strongly garri- 
soned at Grand Gulf, Haines’ Bluff, and Jack- 
son. There must have been with him a lonesome 
feeling whether he was conscious of it or not ; and 
many a boy, putting foot upon this hostile and 


330 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


menacing shore, turned and gazed yearningly 
back upon the transport he had just left and upon 
the safe, happy, but far away, receding Louisiana 
line, bidding a mute farewell before being swal- 
lowed up in the country of his foe. 

Grand Gulf, to be used as a first base, was 
the first objective point. As fast as the troops 
debarked and were supplied with two-days’ ra- 
tions, they were pushed rapidly toward the high 
ground two miles inland. In order to intercept 
them and prevent their taking and occupying 
Grand Gulf, as was confidently expected would 
be attempted, the Confederate garrison at that 
point would find it necessary to proceed by way 
of Port Gibson, twelve miles in the interior, 
where was the first bridge spanning Bayou 
Pierre, a navigable stream, and, as were all 
streams in the Mississippi Valley that winter and 
spring, swollen with flood water. 

That same evening, the Thirteenth Corps, hav- 
ing arrived at the bluffs just short of sundown, 
McClernand pushed forward on the Port Gib- 
son road. The country in that part of Mississippi 
does in very truth “ stand on edge.” The hills 
are high and steep, for the most part heav- 
ily timbered, and the ravines are correspond- 
ingly deep, very deep indeed for battle grounds, 
and rendered well-nigh impenetrable by masses 
of vine and canebrake. The roads run along the 


WHERE MAGNOLIAS GREW ” 331 


ridges and follow the curves. The Thirteenth 
Corps sometimes found these curves so sharp 
that the head and rear of a column would be so 
close together that the men could have conversed 
one with the other, had it been permitted. But 
it was not permitted. The enemy was somewhere 
in the neighborhood. Of that, there could be no 
doubt. All orders were given in whispers. It 
was a silent, ghostly march. Men trod softly. 
Occasionally, the hoot of an owl could be heard, 
a lonesome sound at best, and many an impres- 
sionable boy shivered — he knew not why. 

Company E of the Eighteenth Indiana was 
well up toward the head of the column, Benton’s 
Brigade, to which it belonged, leading the night 
march. Across a deep, dark ravine on the other 
side of a big curve, the rear of the Eighteenth 
was moving forward silently, plainly discernible 
in the brilliant moonlight of the Southern night, 
while on this side, Zack and his fellows also 
pushing as quietly and doggedly ahead, could 
have hailed their comrades across the chasm had 
they dared. 

“ Makes me feel creepy,” complained Zack, in 
an awed whisper to Sammy marching close by 
at the side of the company. “ ’T would n’t s’prise 
me none ter see hants flittin’ ’mongst the cane 
down yander.” 

“ But it would n’t be Susie this time, Zack,” 


332 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


replied Sammy, with humorous gravity, “so 
don’t strain your eyes ravine-gazing. You’ll 
need them when hell-fire for sure comes shooting 
out of those black abysses or somewhere round 
about out of secret places. Rebel guns are the 
only ghost lights I dread.” 

Hardly had he ceased speaking, when a heavy 
volley of musketry flashed in the very faces of 
the moving men. The vanguard of the Thirteenth 
Corps — marching swiftly and stealthily forward 
in the faint hope of being first at the coveted 
bridge and so preserving it for the safer and more 
expeditious crossing of the army — had, without 
warning, run straight up against the waiting Con- 
federate defence at Thompson’s Plantation about 
five miles west of Port Gibson. But the weird 
night march, the lonesome hooting of the owls, 
seeming to bear prophetic messages in their 
strange cries, the knowledge that their military 
seer confidently expected to be attacked some- 
where on the road to Grand Gulf, saved the men 
from too great a surprise. The army as a whole 
never wavered, and individuals here and there 
who involuntarily swayed back from the sudden 
hot blast hurled in their faces quickly recovered 
when the order to advance was given. 

The rebels fell back across a ravine to the left 
of the road and reaching high ground on the far 
side opened fire with a battery. The flashes of 


“WHERE MAGNOLIAS GREW ” 333 


the guns and the bursting shells lit up the night. 
It was another Witches’ Revel on the Brocken 
— a most magnificent display of fireworks had 
not death stalked in the glare and lurked in the 
shadows. Pressing forward through the ravine, 
Company E got into position in a lane road lead- 
ing up the hill. This road was so deeply worn 
and corrugated by usage and by tumultuous rains 
that it afforded a fair measure of protection to 
the men lying flat on their stomachs. 

“ Gosh! I ’m glad I ain’t as fat as I used ter 
be ’fore the war,” Zack whispered across to Percy 
as he stretched his length along one of the nat- 
ural trenches. “ Used ter make me fightin’ mad 
ter be a-gittin’ so thin ’count o’ bein’ so hungry 
an’ whored out all the time ; but I ’low sichy state 
o’ affairs has its good pints, too. Sammy always 
used ter say there was compensations for every- 
thing. That air’s a fool doctrine most all the 
time. The exception ’s jist when you ’re a-lyin’ 
in a shaller ditch an’ have the satisfaction o’ 
knowin’ you ain’t a-stickin’ up behind.” 

The enemy finally fell back still farther and 
the Union troops climbed into the vacated rebel 
position on the hill- top and waited for daylight. 
They lay in close column by divisions. There was 
desultory firing during the rest of the night but 
no real engagement. 

At eight o’clock in the morning, the right wing 


334 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


of the army, consisting of Carr’s and Hovey’s 
Divisions, advanced in column toward the new 
rebel position, under protection of a deep ravine 
to the right of the split road, Osterhaus’s Division 
taking the left branch. Smith’s being held in 
reserve. The ravine was an almost impenetrable 
mass of canebrake and the men floundered 
through the hot and steamy labyrinth as best they 
might, subjected all the while to the enemy’s fire. 

Perhaps four hundred yards from the rebel 
line, they came to the head of the ravine, where 
stood a small country church on a ridge sloping 
gently to the south and east to the edge of an 
oval-shaped pasture green with springing grass. 
If the planter whose domain this was were per- 
chance watching as the men of Carr’s and Ho- 
vey’s fighting divisions came bursting out of the 
canebrake, it must have seemed to him as if they 
were swarming up from the bowels of the earth 
after having discovered some hitherto unsus- 
pected subterranean passage-way leading under 
fortified Vicksburg — that mistaken hope of Jef- 
ferson Davis. With this fair oval field, the 
ground rose again, and some sixty yards beyond 
was the rebel line, bristling with the guns of the 
entire Grand Gulf garrison under General 
Bowen, doggedly defending, at an infinite ad- 
vantage in a chosen position in a rugged country, 
where all nature, the nature of the Southland, 


“ WHERE MAGNOLIAS GREW” 335 


favored the defender of its mistaken ideals. Just 
behind the little white meeting house with its 
silent, pitying, poignant, steadfast but seemingly 
powerless appeal for peace, the Union army 
formed its line of battle and moved • forward. 
The church split the Eighteenth Indiana almost 
exactly at the center forcing Company E out of 
the timber through which it was marching and 
into the main road to Port Gibson. 

Suddenly Sammy experienced a constriction of 
the heart accompanied by a momentary paralysis 
of consternation. Reason enough there was for 
his terror. Directly in front of Company E, less 
than four hundred yards away, squarely set in 
the road so that the blanched faces of his men 
must gaze straight into their frowning muzzles, 
stood two field guns. His company, his com- 
rades, his friends, tried and true, would be mowed 
down like grass before the blade! They stood 
no more chance than sheep led to the slaughterer, 
when that battery should belch up death to all in 
its path. And that might be the next instant, and 
then, oh, the white and staring faces quiet in the 
road! It should not be. Omnipotent God, who 
gives to some the desire divine enough and quick 
enough to save! Up above his head flashed his 
sword, out rang his voice clear as a bugle call, 
sweet with the inspiration that had answered his 
need. 


336 THE HQOSXER VOLUNTEER 


“ Company E, close up on the right! ” 

The men hesitated, slow to grasp the meaning 
of the order under the circumstances, as the gen- 
eral order had been to advance. 

In an agony of apprehension, Sammy rushed 
to the front of the company, shouting his re- 
peated order in a voice that thrilled with poig- 
nant appeal. 

“ For God’s sake, close on the right! ” 

None too soon, the company, perceiving its 
dire extremity, lunged to the right, entering the 
timber and connecting with the right wing south 
of the church. The companies to the left im- 
mediately followed the movement, closing to the 
right, and bringing Company B into the road- 
way — to martyrdom — at the very moment that 
the two-gun battery opened fire, its grape and 
canister strewing the country road with at least 
two-thirds of the smiling boys of that hapless 
company. Oh, inscrutable God, at Whose hu- 
manly unreadable decree, those passed on from 
the place of death, and these passed in ! 

Benton’s Brigade now charged through a mag- 
nolia grove which was in full bloom. This grove 
was directly in the pathway of the frontal re- 
sistance and had been so riddled by bullets that 
the sweet, fragrant southern blossoms covered 
the ground like new-fallen snow, and the men 
literally moved over a soft, white carpet of flow- 


WHERE MAGNOLIAS GREW ” 337 


ers — those, indeed, who did not sink down upon 
it to stain its purity with the crimson of ebbing 
life-blood — while softly, softly, like snowflakes 
still falling, new petals came drifting down. The 
two-gun battery was supported by a brigade of 
infantry and their firing was deadly. Many who 
had escaped death at that first discharge of the 
guns, by virtue of young Captain Goodman’s 
fortunate order — fortunate for the boys of 
Company E if not for the boys of Company B — 
met it now in the magnolia grove, with this only 
difference that they had for their winding sheet 
sweet white flowers instead of the dust of the 
road. Smoke curled through the trees and hid, 
mercifully, much of the havoc wrought; hut it 
was a deadly charge, so deadly that when the 
reckoning came twenty-five per cent of the 
Eighteenth were silent when their names were 
called. 

“Zack! Zack! Comeback! We can’t stand 
this! ” screamed Percy in the thick of it. “ My 
God, think of Company B ! ” 

A few swift steps and Zack was in front of 
him. 

“ Now you turn your face t’ other way an’ 
keep a-movin’ or I ’ll run you through,” he cried, 
grimly. “ I ’ve ’bout give you up — you ’re the 
durndest coward in the army — there ain’t ary 
mite o’ hope for you. Next time you ’tempt ter 


338 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


straggle, I ’low I ’ll let you go an’ be shot for a 
deserter or spend your ornery life in hidin’ an’ 
cringing’ an’ cussin’ an’ wishin’ you had been. 
I ’m through. Next time ’ll be the last time. I 
mean it!’ ? His words came in exploded gasps 
with his running. 

Emerging from the magnolia grove, the 
troops found themselves at the edge of the oval 
field only sixty yards from the rebel line. This 
field was somewhat higher in the center than at 
either side, and, by pursuing wary tactics, the 
men were able to protect themselves to some ex- 
tent from the fury of the fusillade flung out to 
meet them. They would lie down to load, then 
crawl up the slope, fire, and fall back. Sammy, 
walking up and down the line, presently per- 
ceived that Zack would load, slip up to the top 
of the incline, and shoot, all in such an ecstasy 
of wild excitement that the crack shot of Crack- 
er’s Neck might just as well have been firing 
blank cartridges into the air for all the effect 
his commendable activity was having behind the 
rail fence where the rebels were lying. 

“ Come, come, Zack,” he said, dryly, “ quit 
shooting at the moon and shoot at the Johnnies 
for awhile — just to vary the monotony. Be- 
sides, they need it. The moon does n’t. He ’s 
supposed to be neutral — and you are breaking 
the laws of neutrality by your madness,” 


“ WHERE MAGNOLIAS GREW” 339 


“ It ’s a sight better to shoot at the moon than 
that-air fence, I ’low. Some sport to that,” Zack 
muttered, coming to himself with shame-faced 
resentfulness. 

“ Nevertheless, the fence is the prescribed tar- 
get in this game, and I prefer that you stick to 
it. You are too good a shot to be wasting am- 
munition in the air.” 

“ There are a right smart better shots in the 
company than me, Sammy,” replied Zack, mod- 
estly, “ but I kin hit that air fence without hat- 
tin’ a eye, and if you ’re so dead sot on it for a 
target, why, you ’re the Captain, an’ here goes. 
Or revoir , Mr. Moon!” 

For full three hours the two forces kept pop- 
ping away at each other across the field. Once 
some troops to the left of the Eighteenth made 
a gallant but rash charge, and, as they were fall- 
ing back, the jubilant rebels raised a mighty yell. 
It was the old, well-worn, well-known yell of the 
southern armies, but with a distinguishing twang 
to it, somehow. Zack, firing vengefully away at 
the fence, doing what he could to make it pay for 
the repulse, recognized the “ way down South ” 
French “ burr ” of the Louisiana Tigers who had 
disputed the Eighteenth’s determination to re- 
gain the Peoria Battery at Pea Ridge. With 
the recognition came an odd feeling of familiar- 
ity and old acquaintance, followed closely by the 


340 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 

fierce desire to do again what had been done to 
this proud brigade once before. “Pea Ridge! 
Pea Ridge !” he yelled defiantly, sarcastically, 
and repeated the derisive epithet until his voice 
died away in hoarse gutturals. 

Reinforcements were sent for repeatedly. 
But Osterhaus on the left branch of the road was 
also hard pressed and his need was more urgent 
than McClernand’s who was with his right wing 
and all available troops in reserve were sent to 
Osterhaus’s relief. Finally, however, McGin- 
nis’s Brigade of Hovey’s Division could be seen 
passing the church, following the route pursued 
by Benton’s Brigade a few hours earlier. 

At the sight of the men in blue marching con- 
fidently, cheerily, to the aid of Benton’s w r eary, 
weary boys, hard-pressed and engaged in stren- 
uous action since early morning, an electrical 
thrill swept over Sammy. And, curiously 
enough, while a sudden daring determination 
surged through his brain, a dreamy thought of 
bewitching Sara Brown drifted along the under- 
current of his thoughts, and, as have all soldier 
lovers since the world began, he wondered if 
she would be sorry if he never came hack from 
this thing which he was going to do. And would 
she be proud of him as little Mary Ann had 
been in the old days? Oh, no, no, or else why, 
why, had she left him? Looking upon her now 


WHERE MAGNOLIAS GREW ” 341 


in memory’s clarified vision, as she stood be- 
neath the storm-menaced forest, he thought there 
were tears in those true eyes. 

“Come on, boys!” he shouted, carried away 
by the appeal of his daring conception and by 
the inspiration of the blue reinforcements. 
“ Let ’s get that infernal machine of a battery 
and avenge Company B ! ” 

In an instant, his company was on its feet and 
charging across the field, a wild light in its eyes. 

“Halt! ” commanded the Colonel. 

“ Charge! ” shouted Sammy. Rank insubordi- 
nation, but the end, if attained, justified the 
means — with some commanders, and Colonel 
Washburn was remembering Sammy at Pea 
Ridge. 

Captain Charles of H Company now sprang 
forward. 

“ Come on, Company H ! ” he cried, ringingly. 
“ We’ll be in on this!” 

He was followed by his entire command and a 
part of K Company and a few scattered ones 
from other companies, and this fraction of the 
old Eighteenth made that mad charge in the face 
of a deadly fire from the battery and support- 
ing infantry. Although it seemed a thing im- 
possible that any should reach the battery alive, 
there was no halting, no faltering. Sammy and 
Captain Charles were running ahead and the 


342 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 

men did not hesitate to follow such dauntless 
leaders. When within a short distance of the 
battery, the enemy fled in confusion. Sammy 
and Captain Charles arrived at the guns at the 
same time, Sammy placing his hand on one of 
the potentially deadly but now only sullen twin 
pieces, while Captain Charles jumped astride the 
other. 

A few moments later, the reinforcements from 
Hovey’s Division came up. Had it not been for 
their appearance on the way to support Ben- 
ton, it is very probable that the battery would 
never have been thus surrendered to a mere hand- 
ful of the fighting Eighteenth, but, nevertheless, 
the participants felt pardonable pride in achiev- 
ing the enviable distinction of being first in, and 
no one could deny that the charge across the 
gun-swept field was a right gallant one. Some 
prisoners captured from the Louisiana troops 
said they knew who was coming because they 
recognized the Colonel’s voice. If they had also 
heard and understood Zack’s taunting cry, they 
remained disdainfully silent on the subject. 

With the falling back of the enemy in Me- 
demand’s front, the fighting ceased in this part 
of the field. There was still some fighting to the 
left but soon the rebel forces here, too, fell back, 
and with the coming of dusk, the strange quiet of 
after-battle had descended upon Bayou Pierre, 


“ WHERE MAGNOLIAS GREW ” 343 


upon the ridges and the canebrake, upon the un- 
heeded beckoning of the little church, upon some 
rags of flowers, sweet-scented and white in the 
morning, stained, beaten down, crushed — dust 
from which they sprang — at eventide, upon the 
bivouacked Federal army. 

Very early in the morning, Grant’s advance 
army, unrepulsed in its initial step into the 
enemy’s country, marched into Port Gibson. 


CHAPTER XXI 


“first ketch your rabbit ” 

F OLLOWING the battle of Port Gibson, 
Grant threw his army between Pemberton 
at Vicksburg and Johnson at Jackson. He then 
marched to Jackson, drove Johnson from that 
city and then turned toward Vicksburg. On 
May 16 th was fought the sanguinary battle of 
Champion’s Hill, Pemberton having decided to 
check the advance of Grant, and, if possible, 
force him to recross the Mississippi. He was de- 
feated and driven back to the intrenchments at 
Black River Bridge. The next day he was driven 
out of that position and forced back to the forti- 
fications around Vicksburg. By the evening of 
the 18 th of May, the investment of that city by 
the Union Troops was complete. McClernand’s 
Corps took its position somewhat south of the 
city, McPherson’s being east and Sherman’s 
north. The Confederate defences were very 
strong. They consisted of a string of redoubts 
or earthen forts scattered along the line at inter- 
vals averaging a distance between of possibly a 
quarter of a mile, beginning at Haines’ Bluff on 
344 


KETCH YOUR RABBIT ” 


345 


the north and continuing in a circle around to the 
river below, making the line about seven miles 
long. These redoubts were connected by rifle pits 
with deep ditches in front. 

On the twenty-first. General Grant decided to 
make a general assault the following day. Orders 
were sent to the different division and brigade 
headquarters to be prepared for this assault by 
ten o’clock on the morning of the twenty-second 
— a day heroic and terrible. 

Benton’s Brigade was located in a ravine run- 
ning nearly parallel with the rebel works and 
about three hundred and fifty yards removed. 
From the summit of the hill, the ground de- 
scended slightly in the direction of the defences 
for about half the distance and then there was a 
gradual ascent. At the bottom of the depression 
was some scattered brush — otherwise, the 
ground was clear. 

A few minutes before ten o’clock on the 
twenty-second of May, the troops were in position 
and the long line was ready to advance. It was 
an impressive moment; one never to be forgot- 
ten by the men waiting for the sound of the sig- 
nal gun. Forty thousand men were about to 
charge well fortified works defended by thirty 
thousand men. Forty thousand men were about 
to go down into the valley— the valley of the 
shadow of death. It was a brave number. Who 


340 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


of the forty thousand would see Vicksburg that 
day, or live to see it all in good time if not that 
day? Who of the forty thousand would pierce 
the shadow and find — the reality? Who would 
be the ones to fight on — who, to rest? 

“ That air ’ll seem like a right smart distance 
across before we git over it,” Zack drawled, as 
he and Selvin were standing in line waiting for 
the signal. 

“ Shot in the back — shot in the back,” mur- 
mured Selvin, musingly. “ Is that to be my fate 
at last ? It shimmers so and it is so far — so very 
far — and so full of ‘ hants,’ Zack, not sheeted 
ones like yours, but ghosts of fear, the fear of 
being hurt, the fear of being afraid, and, most 
of all, the fear of not being able to stand being 
afraid — the fear of panic.” 

“ Now, you jist perk up, Percy Selvin. Jist 
forgit everything but that you ’re a-takin’ part 
in the biggest thing o’ this here whole war. 
This ’ll end it for sure — an’ jist think how 
uppy you ’ll feel tellin’ your friends an’ posterity 
in years ter come how you was in the charge at 
Vicksburg when thirty thousand men was took 
prisoners along with seven miles o’ fortifica- 
tions.” 

“ If I am, you won’t tell my mother, or the 
Captain, or Miss Brown, will you, Zack? ” con- 
tinued Selvin, still thoughtfully, his eyes on the 


“ KETCH YOUR RABBIT ” 


347 


sinister, bristling, but apparently unmanned 
ramparts sealing that fair, southern city. 

“Are what?” asked Zack, bluntly. 

“ Shot in the back.” 

“ Quick — git that-air fool notion out o’ your 
head once an’ for all. You’ll have ter turn a 
right smart more lively than I ’low you kin if 
you git ary chance ter git your back headed ter 
the enemy before I square you around ag’in.” 

“ But you said, you know, back there in the 
magnolia grove, that there would n’t be another 
time,” said Selvin, a glint of humor in the sombre 
brown eyes. “ This time, I am to be left to my 
just deserts — to suffer the penalty, whatever it 
is to be. That is what you said, you remember.” 

“Well, seein ’s how it’s you — an’ you an’ 
me ’ve tramped it tergether for a right smart 
while — an’ ’lowin’ I ’d be purty lonesome plug- 
gin’ along alone without you ter harangue — 
I ’m willin’ ter stretch it a p’int an make it jist 
one more time” said Zack, with great gravity. 

And then, from the center of the line, came the 
roar of the signal gun. 

“ Company E,’ ? shouted Sammy, “ let ’s be 
the first company over the works! Charge! ” 

The long line moved forward. Men swarmed 
like bees from the numerous ravines where they 
had been sheltered. As Benton’s Brigade broke 
over the hill and started down the incline, it was 


348 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


greeted with such a roaring of cannon and rattle 
of musketry as no one in that long line had ever 
heard before. All other battle experiences paled 
before it. And down, down, down over the val- 
ley settled the rolling smoke — like a pall — and 
down, down, down into the valley went the first 
of the forty thousand — to be wrapped in that 
pall. There was no faltering. The bottom of 
the depression reached and the opposite slope 
beginning to be climbed by those still fighting on, 
the firing was more deadly still, and men began 
falling by the hundreds. 

“Come on!” Zack yelled in Percy’s ear. 
“ We ’re over half way an’ ain’t dead yit! ” 

They were not, but others were, and more fall- 
ing all the time. Zack’s battle madness, how- 
ever, was so inspiring that Selvin was doing very 
well indeed, and was stumbling bravely up the 
rugged way when a comrade running on the other 
side of him was disemboweled, suddenly, as he 
ran. Selvin cowered to the ground and lay flat 
upon it. 

“ Git up, or I ’ll kick the life out o’ you! ” 
roared Zack, starting in as if to carry his threat 
into instant execution. He kicked the prostrate 
man unmercifully and called him all the names 
he could bring to mind in the stress of the mo- 
ment, and they were rather many. When mem- 
ory failed him, he repeated. To a looker-on he 


“ KETCH YOUR RABBIT 


349 


might seem the stern task master, resentfully 
chastising a delinquent for bitter failure. The 
truth was that he loved this faulty boy — if it is 
a fault to shrink from the sight of red, arterial 
blood being pumped out so lavishly, at such awful 
waste, to water the ground for the growing of 
peace — as the roughly chiseled but great-hearted 
so often love the fine, frail things of earth. 

At last Selvin staggered to his feet and stum- 
bled on. Through his numbed and cowering 
senses, through his bewildered mind and shrink- 
ing soul, there flashed a saving impulse of hu- 
mor. “ Now, I wonder if this will be the last 
time? Zack forgot to say,” ran the thought. 

Coming to the ditches in front of a redoubt, 
they found that they were some, eight feet wide 
and ten or twelve feet deep. A portion of the 
Eighteenth, carried forward by the impulse of 
the movement, was precipitated into these 
ditches. Being unable to cross them, the Fed- 
eral forces lay down upon the ground and began 
a steady fire against the Confederate line of de- 
fences. They made it so dangerous for a rebel 
to show his head above the breastworks that there 
was little return fire from the enemy. They 
were in a comparatively safe position as they 
were, but enormous loss must inevitably follow a 
retreat — back across the smoking, mottled, 
moaning slopes. And thus it was determined 


350 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


that they should hold their position until they 
might retire in safety under cover of darkness/ 
Presently, it was discovered that some guns in a 
fort to the right of the position occupied by the 
Eighteenth Indiana had an enfilading fire down 
the line and men were dropping in its pathway 
almost as grain before the reaper. 

“ Captain Goodman,” cried Colonel Wash- 
burn, “ take your company and move back to the 
ravine — then move to the right and find a posi- 
tion where you can sharp-shoot those gunners ! ” 
Then, as Sammy turned immediately to obey this 
somewhat startling command, the Colonel added, 
laconically, without the shadow of a smile, al- 
though the gravity of his countenance under- 
went subtle, momentary lightening as if he 
might be laughing inside of him, “ And, mind 
you, Captain, do n't charge them ! ” And that 
was all Colonel Washburn ever said to Sammy 
Goodman showing that he remembered the in- 
subordination of two mad captains and a hand- 
ful of mad followers back there “ Where the 
Sweet Magnolia Blossoms Grew.” 

Sammy’s face flushed, but he did not dare to 
smile back. He saluted gravely and respect- 
fully and proceeded to execute his commission, 
thinking the while with a very real throb of 
grateful affection of the Colonel’s words in that 
blistering cornfield on the weary, weary march to 


KETCH YOUR RABBIT 


351 


Helena. With Union soldiers strung all along 
in front to keep the enemy down, it was thought 
that the company might move back without call- 
ing down the rebel fire upon them to any very 
damaging extent; but, after Sammy and his men 
had passed the bottom of the depression and had 
begun to climb the opposite slope, it was not nec- 
essary for the Confederates to expose themselves 
very much to the foe immediately before them in 
order to get a line upon the hastening figures on 
the far hillside bound on an errand boding no 
good to the besieged, and, almost instantane- 
ously, the fire of the whole rebel line anywhere 
within range was turned upon the little bunch of 
blue-coats pluckily daring all for the glorious 
chance of silencing those enfilading guns. Now 
and again, one of the boys would fall. Had the 
distance been less, it is very probable that not one 
would have escaped. 

When almost within the safety zone, Selvin 
perceived all at once that Zack was not running 
by his side. Zack! Why, where was Zack? He 
passed his hand over his eyes, momentarily con- 
fused in his reasoning, for Zack had always been 
there. What could have happened to keep Zack 
away? He did not know what to do without 
Zack. Why, who would write that letter to his 
mother— that mother so thoroughly grounded 
in “ book Tamin’ ” that this same Zack had been 


352 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


awed by the mere thought of addressing her on 
paper with his crude, hieroglyphic-like penman- 
ship and his cruder orthographic blunders? Who 
would kick and abuse him into line the next time ? 
Was there then to be no “ next time ” after 
all? Zack had forgotten to say it back there — 
back there — the wandering thought reminded 
him to glance 4 4 back there.” 

44 Why, Zack!” he cried aloud, with a sobbing 
breath. It was not so very far back that Zack 
lay — perhaps fifty yards — but it was in the 
hell zone of fire — of shot and of shell — and the 
kindly, stalwart backwoodsman lay veiy low be- 
neath it, the pitiless rain of it still pelting his 
quiet form. 

Had any one been watching Selvin at that 
moment, that one might have seen a strange lit- 
tle smile hovering over the boyish lips, as if it 
were saying, 44 Kismet,” as if he had foreseen 
all the while something not yet come to pass — 
but coming. Oddly enough, too, all fear fell 
from him, at least the shrinking or consciousness 
of fear. One thought stood out distinctly, the 
thought that the helpless figure of his friend out 
there must be carried in out of the storm. Thus 
it was that simply, unquestioningly, unflinch- 
ingly, young Percy Selvin, whom Zack had 
befriended at all times, through good and evil 
report, turned and started back down the reek- 


“ KETCH YOUR RABBIT ” 


353 


ing, shell-swept slope. The firing seemed to be 
even more terrible than before, due, no doubt, 
to the fact that the enemy, perceiving that the 
Y ankees were on the point of vanishing over the 
hill, redoubled its efforts. 

“ Come back! ” cried a comrade, suddenly re- 
alizing what Selvin had it in mind to do. “ Come 
back, idiot ! Do n’t you know you ’d be a dead 
man before you got half-way to him? Likely, 
he ’s dead, anyhow.” 

If Selvin heard, he did not heed, but kept 
steadily on. Likewise oblivious was he to the in- 
cessant crack, crack, crack of rifle and musket, 
the very next one of which might mean death on 
the wing for him. He seemed — indeed, he 
thought himself to be — singularly calm and ra- 
tional in this unexpected crisis. In reality, he 
was living the fateful moments in those upper 
strata of utter self-abnegation to which human 
nature so rarely attains that, from the human 
view-point, his mind was soaring in a very ec- 
stasy of unreality. 

He was so much slighter than Zack that the 
burden was almost too much for the fitting of the 
back to it; but he gathered the unconscious man 
in his arms and began a staggering, labored re- 
turn. Time and again was he compelled to lay 
his burden down and rest, though the bullets con- 
tinued to zip and whiz all about him. To his own 


354 THE HOOS1ER VOLUNTEER 


surprise, he felt no impulse to dodge or to bur- 
row or to run, but, quietly, without flinching as 
a stinging, singing something stirred the hair 
above his cheek, awaited a measure of returning 
strength before resuming his appointed task. 
Zack was bleeding profusely from several ugly 
wounds, but the motion served to urge his sunken 
senses back to consciousness. His mind all at 
once became clear and alert and he remembered, 
and, remembering, grasped the present situation 
in a moment. 

“Let go o’ me, quick!” he cried, in a voice 
husky with emotion and suffering, but dictatorial 
yet. “ An’ you git behind that air hill fast ’s 
ever you kin! Jump, now! You mind me! 
Run ! Let me down, I say, you ’re a-hurtin’ me, 
an’ you run, now! My leg’s broke, I ’low, so 
I can’t kick you, but I ’ll hammer you ter death 
with my fists if you don’t mind!” 

“’T ain’t ary bit o’ use ter try ter pack me 
over yander,” he expostulated, a moment later, 
growing drowsy from loss of blood, as Percy, 
panting, laid him down for a moment. “ You ’ll 
jist git kilt your ownse’f, an’ then there ’ll be 
two o’ us dead ’stid o’ one. Do n’t be a id jit, 
Percy! ” 

Percy’s only reply was a little smile, almost of 
deprecation, like that of one forced to refuse a 
child’s petition which, if granted, would work to 


“ KETCH YOUR RABBIT ” 


355 


its harm, as he stooped once more, gathered up 
Zack and proceeded on his stumbling way. 

When the remnant of the company had ac- 
complished the protection of the hill, somebody 
told the Captain about it — about young Selvin, 
the company’s “ cold;foot,” and about Zacha- 
riah Posey, the company’s hero, out there to- 
gether — and Sammy Goodman, the company’s 
idol, felt for a moment as if the end of all had 
come indeed. “Why, Zack!” he cried aloud, 
with sobbing unbelief, as Selvin had cried. His 
thought in that first bewildered moment was all 
for Zack. Then his heart went out in quick grat- 
itude to the laboring young fellow who was 
bringing him in. Selvin was now almost home, 
but it semed as if he must fall from sheer ex- 
haustion before that last little home stretch was 
run. With a bound, Sammy sprang to his assist- 
ance. A moment more, and the three were safe, 
the bullets whistling impotently over the hill. 

A handkerchief was swiftly bound around 
Zack’s leg to retard the worst of the bleeding. 
As he was about to be carried back to the hos- 
pital, he opened his eyes. They rested vaguely 
for a moment upon his bearers, then he asked 
feebly to see Percy Selvin. 

“Where is he?” he demanded, weakly, but 
with insistence, as they hesitated. “ I tell you I 
must speak ter him before I go back! ” 


356 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


“ He ’s right here, Zack,” interposed Sammy, 
quickly. “ Do n’t get so excited over nothing. 
Wait till you ’re hit before you squeal, old chap,” 
he gibed, affectionately, hoping to allay Zack’s 
growing and feverish excitement. Apprehension 
clutched him — but if it were so — Zack must 
not know — not now. 

Glancing hastily around, he observed the fig- 
ure stretched upon the ground with a number of 
company men gathered around it. 

“ When did it happen?”- he asked them, in a 
hushed voice. 

“ He was wounded when he came in,” one of 
the men replied. “ Nobody knows just when it 
occurred. He was game; a bullet in the back.” 

Sammy knelt down beside the company 
coward. 

“ How are you, Selvin?” he inquired, gently. 
“ I reckon you’ll soon be ready for duty, won’t 
you? To the hospital now — but don’t forget 
to report for duty at the first possible moment — 
we need you,” he rallied him, though his heart 
sank at the look on the pale young face. 

“ I am done for, Captain,” whispered Percy, 
in a voice scarcely audible so very fast were the 
sands of his life dropping — dropping — but he 
rallied and added in a stronger voice, even a 
majestic voice, “ Do n’t waste time on me, Cap- 
tain! Take the company and silence that bat- 


KETCH YOUR RABBIT ” 


357 


tery before it kills any more of us ! ” And he 
who had been so afraid of death, and so much 
more afraid of being hurt, looking that solemn, 
mysterious visitant closely in the face, suffering 
all the hurt that the flesh can suff er, could speak 
thus with earnest self-forgetfulness now that 
vague, emotional fear had met and grappled with 
grim reality; and even while stifling moans of 
unendurable pain, he smiled, because, after all, 
he was enduring it, he could bear it, he had only 
been afraid that he couldn’t and afraid of the 
nightmare of panic that would follow his not 
being able to bear it. If one only really knew, 
knew the latent powers of the soul — there is 
nothing in the world one cannot bear. Some- 
times, things kill you — but, strangely enough, 
you find you can bear that, too. 

“ Do n’t give up as easily as that, Selvin. 
Where would Zack be now if you had given him 
up that easily?” asked Sammy, feelingly. 
“ Here ’s Zack now,” motioning the bearers of 
the stretcher to him. “ He wanted to speak to 
you before going to the hospital. Brace up, 
boy! You met your chance like — the man and 
soldier that you are. I do n’t want to hear any- 
thing more about being done for! ” 

“ Captain Sammy,” said Zack, “ I ’low you 
know ? bout Percy — what he done for me? ” 

“ Yes, I know, Zack.” 


358 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 

“ Do you think he justified the chance you giv’ 
him yander on the Osage?” 

thousand-fold. I have told him so, 

Zack.” 

A pleased, triumphant smile flitted over Zack’s 
drawn face. 

“ Good for you, Sammy. I knew he would all 
the time. I ain’t much — I ain’t worth it — 
but I knew you ’d be pleased ’cause you ’re 
Sammy, an’ you an’ me both b’longs ter ol’ 
Dubois together.” 

He had never told Captain Goodman nor the 
rest the half of his struggle with Percy Selvin’s 
seemingly unconquerable fear, and he never did 
tell, now, so that the young fellow’s memory 
went down the years with the company’s sur- 
vivors, a beautiful and a hallowed thing, unsul- 
lied by the things which Zack never told. 

“Hit bad? ” asked Zack, when the others had 
stepped aside with bowed heads, while Sammy 
made rapid mental plans for the disposition of 
his company somewhere over there to the right. 
Death, the war agent, does not stand respect- 
fully while death goes by. 

“ There is n’t to be another time, Zack,” came 
from the bloodless lips of the dying boy, that hint 
of humor again scintillating in the brown eyes 
looking so far away into the unknown. 

“ I said so, did n’t I? ” muttered Zack, laugh- 


“ KETCH YOUR RABBIT ” 


359 


ing huskily to hide his emotion — and not un- 
derstanding. “ I always said so, an’ this time 
I knew. I ’m right sorry I kicked you an’ talked 
ter you like I done. You ’d orter o’ lef’ me out 
there — served me right. Before they pack me 
off ter the hospital, I ’d jist like ter hear you say 
you do n’t hold it ag ? in me. I always liked you 
a passel, sonny, even when I railed at you most.” 

“ Do n’t worry, Zack. I ’d have been shot in 
the back, anyway, and for the real thing if it 
had n’t been for you. This is better than a court- 
martial. It is much, much better as it is.” 

“ Why do you git so skeert in battle when 
you ’re really a braver man than any o’ us ? ” 
asked Zack, in wonder. 

“ I was n’t cut out for a soldier, I guess,” said 
Selvin, simply. “ I ? m glad I could go when the 
‘ hants ’ were n’t anywhere around. I do n’t de- 
serve it, but I am glad. Zack, when you see 
Miss Brown, will you tell her why I was shot in 
the back? Likely, the Captain will, but do you 
so, too, to make sure. Will you? ” 

“You kin jist bet I will,” said Zack, his hus- 
kiness increasing as the boy’s increasing weakness 
grew more apparent even to him who loved him. 
“ But I ’low you ’ll be up all right and tellin’ 
her first your ownse’f . 

“ You will be lonesome without me to take care 
of, won’t you, for a little while? I wonder who 


360 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


will march with you next time you march? I 
wonder if the war will be over when you get into 
Vicksburg? I wonder if he — the new fellow 
who is to march with you — will be afraid?” 
He was speaking dreamily, a little wistfully. 

“ Yes, I will be very lonesome,” was all poor 
Zack could say, his frame shaking with sobs. 

Sammy came up hastily and helped Selvin on 
the stretcher prepared for him. 

“ Good-by, Zack,” whispered the dying boy, as 
Zack was borne away. 

“ Good-by, Percy, good-by, good-by.” 

“You are a brave boy, Selvin,” said Sammy, 
brokenly. “ Remember, you must hurry to get 
well. Company E can’t afford to lose men like 
you.” 

“ Thank you, Captain,” a light leaping up into 
the closing eyes. He was very far away, but he 
had always yearned to hear words like these from 
his Captain’s lips, so they carried over a great 
distance, and his yearning spirit met and heard 
them and, hearing, passed smilingly away. 

Leading his company up the length of the 
ravine, Sammy observed that there was a small 
hill or knoll opposite the redoubt where the guns 
that were enfilading a part of the Union line 
were located, but, in order to get behind the knoll, 
it would be necessary to traverse a space of about 
fifty yards open to the enemy’s fire. There was 


“ KETCH YOUR RABBIT ” 


861 


no other way of obtaining the coveted position, 
however, and so the company, spreading out as 
in a skirmish line, raced over the distance, fortu- 
nately with but small loss. It was now in very 
good range of the battery and began effectively 
to pick off the gunners as fast as they came up, 
making it impossible for the enemy to operate 
the guns. 

The company was not relieved nor did it re- 
ceive any f urther orders. With the coming of 
night, most of the old-timers experienced some- 
what of the eerie feeling that had beset them as 
pickets before Pea Ridge. When the short 
twilight had passed, Sammy, apprehensive that 
the enemy would march out and cut them off 
from the army, withdrew to the end of the ravine 
and remained there until nearly daylight when he 
ordered the men to slip quietly back to their old 
position behind the knoll. The morning light 
soon revealed the fact that the Federal troops 
had withdrawn from in front of the rebel works 
during the night; but, fearing another charge, 
and still receiving no orders, Sammy remained 
behind the knoll until late in the afternoon, when 
he received orders to come in. 

As the company was passing brigade head- 
quarters on its return, it was immediately stopped 
and Sammy ordered to report to General Benton. 
The General complimented him highly upon the 


362 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


work he and his men had done. The words of 
unstinted commendation were sweet to the tired, 
heart-sick young officer who was thinking of the 
smiling soul gone, and of the friend of all his 
years whose life was wavering in the balance, and 
of the others out there on the hillside. Company 
E had paid very dear, but the gain in lives and 
future effectiveness to the army by the silencing 
of those enfilading guns was inestimable, so the 
bitter price was paid without haggling. The 
company deserved well of its country. 

After this vain and costly attempt to carry 
the city by assault, the military seer decided to 
waste no more lives on such fruitless dreams of 
speedy capitulation, and the long siege began in 
earnest. The end was inevitable. On the Fourth 
Day of July, in the morning, as the Federal 
army, having replied to the rebel taunt, “ First 
ketch your rabbit,” by catching it, was lined up 
in front of the Confederate intrenchments, a 
white flag shot up away to the right as far as 
could be seen, then another, and another, and so 
on down the line to the end of it. The wan sol- 
diers then marched out and stacked their guns. 
Not one cheer arose to hurt them. It spoke well 
for the great-heartedness of the men of the 
North. The vanquished, like them, were Ameri- 
can soldiers, though mistaken, and had fought 
well and starved well. 


CHAPTER XXII 

# sammy's last skirmish 

I N THE very act of fraternizing with the 
gaunt, hungry remnant of Pemberton’s army, 
sharing rations with their late antagonists, swap- 
ping siege tales, luxuriously contemplating a 
long, lazy rest and an indefinite immunity from 
the sound of guns and the sight of blood, came 
marching orders for the major portion of the 
victorious army. Men received the news with 
incredulous dismay and inward protestation. 
The shock was too great and unexpected for 
immediate acceptance. When they became con- 
vinced of the legitimacy and the irrevocableness 
of the orders, they fell into clamorous rebellion; 
which state of mind in turn gave way to the grim 
silence of utter disgust. They were weary, 
weary, weary, and it was hot, hot, hot, and the 
days had been many and long and pressed full 
since they first put step on the rebel side of the 
Mississippi. Zack’s drop- jawed amazement and 
incredulity were so extreme that Sammy could 
not help laughing at him, although his own dis- 
appointment was almost as great. Zack’s wounds 
263 


304 THE HQOSIER VOLUNTEER 

had proved not so serious as was at first feared, 
and he was again on duty, though he was still 
thin, pale, and emaciated from the suffering and 
confinement. 

“ ’Pears like I ain’t never goin’ ter git no 
more rest in this here world,” was his lugubrious 
plaint, as he rammed several days’ rations into 
his haversack with spiteful pokes and digs as if 
they were responsible for the affront. “No 
more ’n out o’ the hospital than set ter hard 
labor diggin’ trenches an’ sichy, an’ no sooner ’n 
we ’ve earned one night’s sleep, anyhow, than 
here we be — on the march ag’in — an’ we took 
J ackson once. Wish ter goodness I ’d o’ let ’em 
sent me home ter ’cuperate when they wanted 
ter. Wish, almost, that I was where Percy is. 
He ’s restin’, anyhow.” 

There was reason in Zack’s complaint, but how 
was it to be helped? Johnston had been hover- 
ing as near as he dared for many days, hoping 
against hope to be able to get assistance to Pem- 
berton in some way. When Vicksburg capitu- 
lated, Johnston immediately fell back upon 
Jackson. Sherman was in readiness to move 
against him the very moment the surrender of 
the besieged city made it practicable or desirable, 
and was to be joined in the movement by both 
Steele and Ord and their commands. The after- 
noon of that very day, the day of the Fourth, the 


SAMMY’S LAST SKIRMISH 365 


tired and heartily disgusted troops took up the 
trail of Johnston. 

How dusty the roads and how hot! Missis- 
sippi in midsummer! The water was an affront 
to the system which craved cooling drink, but 
it had to be drunk, bad as it was. The men were 
already exhausted by the long, arduous, weari- 
some siege. Their unaccustomed northern blood 
had fairly seethed in the languorous, debilitating 
southern summer, until it had burned up its red 
corpuscles and flowed, a sickly, sluggish stream, 
through clogged and heavy veins. The hot, 
waterless, weary, weary, and unresting pursuit 
of Johnston was almost too much for them. It 
was too much for many — they dropped out, 
never to march again, at least on a militant earth ; 
and the burning July sun, having done its worst, 
mockingly refused to warm them back to life 
again. 

On the eleventh, Sherman was close up to the 
Confederate defences and began shelling the city. 
On the night of the sixteenth, the Eighteenth 
Indiana, which occupied a position so close to the 
besieged city that conversation with those within 
would have been practicable, had its feelings 
sadly harrowed and its patience and its sleep 
annihilated by the seemingly endless strains of 
an all-night hand concert. To the unprejudiced, 
the music would have fallen upon appreciative 


366 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


ears. It was beautiful, and the soft, dark, 
southern night was a beautiful setting. “ Dixie,” 
over and over again, and what melody there is 
in “ Dixie,” and then “ The Bonnie Blue Flag,” 
over and over again, and “ Maryland, my Mary- 
land,” and then again “ Dixie.” “ Way down 
South in Dixie.” But to most of the harassed 
Eighteenth, the musical strains were swelling 
with defiance, triumph, pride, and flaunting in- 
solence. With the close, still, hot dawn, came 
the knowledge of a quiet slipping away in the 
night under cover of the brave music of the 
South ; and then Sammy knew why it had seemed 
to sound mournful and sad to his dreamy senses, 
even while to most, it had rung with vengeful 
insolence. “ Dixie ” had been a farewell, not a 
defiance. 

After the siege of Jackson, the troops re- 
turned to Vicksburg where at last they rested 
for a few days, those, indeed, who were not too 
tired to rest, and those for whom the coveted 
respite had not come too late. 

In August, that splendid Army of the Ten- 
nessee was mistakenly and under protest of its 
commanding general disintegrated, scattered 
hither and yon, a portion here, a portion there, 
no longer to be reckoned with as “ man for man, 
officer for officer, the most perfect army ever 
marshaled under a flag.” United, it had been 


SAMMY’S LAST SKIRMISH 367 

the invincible power that had cleared the Mis- 
sissippi and cut the Confederacy in two ; divided, 
it merely went to swell the numbers of other 
armies doing other things and which did not need 
it especially; its splendid strength as a cohesive 
unit dissipated. 

It fell to the lot of Carr’s old division under a 
new commander to be transferred to the Depart- 
ment of the Gulf, and near the middle of 
August, it went by transport to New Orleans. 
After a few weeks spent in the quaint old Creole 
city, the division went to Brashear City and from 
thence Benton’s Brigade made a hundred-mile 
raid up the beautiful green-banked Bayou Teche, 
and inland to Opelousas. A part of Dick Tay- 
lor’s army needed routing and it was the lot of 
the brigade to do the routing. It seemed to 
Sammy as if he had been suddenly transported 
to some other world, so quiet, so rich and fertile 
was the valley after the storm and stress of the 
battle fields of the ravished South. This, too, 
was the South, but what a different South! 
Union troops had never before set foot upon it. 
They were the first. So peaceful it was, after the 
noise and strife, so low and level, after the “ set 
on edge ” country around Vicksburg, so gigantic 
the forest growth and so tropical the vegetation, 
so quaint and, withal, so cultured and refined 
the dwellers within it — all French, descendants 


368 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


of those Acadians so ruthlessly expelled from 
their peaceful homes and pursuits on English 
soil only to take root, to thrive and to blossom in 
a more generous soil, a fairer clime — that it was 
little wonder it seemed a foreign shore. 

It seemed ruthless and wanton to destroy prop- 
erty in this beautiful, alluvial, peaceful valley, 
but war is a desecration at best, and, perhaps, if 
there had been more of such destruction in the 
beginning, there had been, in the end, less waste 
of blood, surely more precious than many lands 
or houses. Especially was it the duty of Ben- 
ton’s Brigade on this raid to destroy the sugar 
and mills on the big plantations in order to 
further cripple the source of supplies for the 
rebel armies and thus hasten the inevitable end. 

Passing an extensive sugar plantation one day, 
the army was astonished at the great number of 
slaves who came crowding about the road to 
watch the troops pass by. There must have been 
five hundred of them, all told, field hands and 
house servants together, of all ages and descrip- 
tions, varying in color from coal black to the fair- 
est blonde. One girl in the very midst of the 
throng of curious, gaping, barefooted spectators 
attracted Sammy’s notice by what he at first 
deemed the unusualness of her association upon 
terms of such close intimacy with the colored 
multitude. With her blue eyes, brown hair, and 


SAMMY’S LAST SKIRMISH 369 


beautiful fair skin, she did seem oddly out of 
place. It was not until he noted her short, one- 
piece garment of coarse sacking, her bare feet, 
and her air of oneness with the rest — her badge 
of servitude — that he understood. 

“ What shame ! ” he muttered, under his breath. 

The band struck up “ John Brown’s Body,” 
and the darkies suddenly went wild. Gone was 
their seemingly apathetic staring. It must be 
remembered that these negroes had never before 
seen Union troops. They supposedly had never 
heard Union songs. Where had been their 
opportunity? And yet, at the first martial 
strains, faces lit up, eyes danced, and bodies 
swayed to the rhythm, while feet fairly spoke the 
music of the march. 

“Why, do you know that tune?” asked the 
soldiers, in surprise. 

“ Yes, yes, yes, we does, we does, bress de 
Lawd!” cried several, and others took up the 
enraptured avowal, eagerly, as if something re- 
straining had given away and it was a relief to 
let the pent up flood leap out at last. There was 
a freemasonry existing between the slaves of the 
South that their masters wotted not of, and the 
music of freedom carried far. 

Suddenly, an old woman stepped majestically 
forward and took her stand in front of the others 
of her kind in bondage. She was tall and not 


370 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


enfeebled despite her many years and her thank- 
less toil in the sugar cane. Her hair was as 
white as snow and the seamed, strong face be- 
neath it, black as ebony. She seemed a sybil, 
an inspired prophetess, as she raised her wrinkled 
hands to the sky and cried aloud, while her eyes, 
fixed upon things unseen of mortal man, seemed 
to be reading out of heaven that which her tongue 
gave utterance to. It was evident that her com- 
panions held her in the utmost respect and awe 
by the way they gave place to her and the rever- 
ence with which they listened to her solemn 
sentences. 

“ Ah see’d yo’ in de clouds — Ah see’d yo’ 
wif yo’ unifawms on — Ah knowed yo ’d come 

— Ah knowed yo ’d come — Ah been lookin’ fo’ 
yo’ long, long time, but Ah knowed yo ’d come 

— fo’ Ah see’d yo’ in de clouds — Ah see’d yo’ 
unifawms — an’ Ah knowed yo’ was er-comin’ 

— bress de Lawd, oh my soul! ” 

It was with a solemn, subdued feeling that the 
army passed on after this prophetic greeting, so 
earnest so believing and so inspired had the 
ancient negress been. 

The engagement with Taylor’s detachment, 
while severe, was, for the most part, with cavalry 
and the fighting for the Eighteenth proved to be 
nothing at all. But, the rebels on the run and the 
homeward movement instituted, Company E was 


SAMMY'S LAST SKIRMISH 371 


detailed to act as rear-guard and escort the 
wagon train; and, as the troops did not see fit to 
wait, they soon distanced the crawling wagons 
and passed out of sight. It proved an anxious 
day for Sammy. The rebels were not so far be- 
hind but that a sudden sortie was entirely within 
the realm of possibilities, and they were so many 
that his company would be powerless to offer 
much resistance. However, no such expected 
event came to pass and no harm befell the worn 
little company, now a mere handful as compared 
with the full roll mustered in at Indianapolis. 

It was on this return that the flocks of colored 
people who had before crowded down to stare 
now came crowding down to attach themselves 
to the procession. As the brigade passed the 
larger plantations, hundreds of men and women 
with a goodly sprinkling of “ pickaninnies ” 
presented themselves squarely in the road and 
were not to be denied. Their baggage in most 
cases was ludicrous in the extreme — a conglom- 
erate mass of anything and everything dearest 
to their starved hearts. One old woman carried 
a feather tick on her head; another nicely bal- 
anced on her head a bag containing a half bushel 
or so of pecans. At one plantation, Sammy was 
met by a slight, worn, dignified, middle-aged 
woman who still bore traces of a once unusual 
beauty and who spoke English rather well, 


372 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


though the French inflection was noticeable. 
She was confronted by a large, handsome, neatly- 
gowned negress who stood stolidly before her, 
indifferently making more secure the knot of a 
big blue bandana handkerchief which bound her 
possessions. 

“ You will make her to stay, Sir, you will in- 
sist,” the little worn mistress was entreating, her 
dignity almost at the breaking point at the 
exigencies of her situation. “ The cruel con- 
script — you know — I am all alone. Marie — 
she have been with me always. She was born in 
this house — she have everything — I cannot do 
all, alone. The rest have left me — all the field 
hands, all the house servants — all but Marie, my 
own maid — what shall I do if she go? And yet 
she will go! ” She wrung her white, white hands 
despairingly. “ The Commandant — he will in- 
sist that she remain.” 

“ I am sorry, Madam,” replied Sammy, gently, 
“ but I have no authority over her. She must 
do as — seems best to her. If Marie will stay 
for a little while, it will not be long.” He looked 
at the negro woman gravely, questioningly, but 
she shook her head mutely. The dream of her 
race was come true and she must go to meet her 
destiny or it might pass her by. The last thing 
Sammy saw as he turned in the late sunlight for a 
last glimpse of a crumbling institution, was the 


SAMMY’S LAST SKIRMISH 373 


slight, aristocratic figure of the worn but beautiful 
mistress, standing very still on the wide, green, 
neglected lawn, head drooping ever so slightly, a 
deserted mansion-house behind her, with night 
coming on, and she w r as alone. 

The raiders met Lawler’s Brigade at New 
Iberia, coming up the bayou in transports as re- 
inforcements, superfluous, indeed, but Banks had 
been afraid. 

The army returned to Berwick on the bay and 
from that point took ship and steamed down to 
the mouth of the Rio Grande, and from thence 
along the coast to Matanzas Island. This island 
is long and narrow and at the lower end was a 
rebel fort with a garrison of about one hundred 
and fifty men. It was the Colonel of the Eight- 
eenth’s idea to land the troops here at the upper 
end, march down to the fort and take it from the 
land side; but he decided first to go ashore him- 
self with his adjutant and determine the prac- 
ticability of landing the troops at this point, and 
Sammy promptly volunteered to accompany him, 
also. Sammy had an intense longing for the 
land. He was undergoing his first experience 
with seasickness and he did n’t like it. Malarial 
or typhoid was nothing in comparison. White, 
drawn, limp, and sick, sick, sick, the inspiration 
to proffer his services to the colonel flared up in 
his nauseated soul like a beacon light, and he 


374 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


never admired Colonel Washburn more than 
when that officer briefly accepted his company. 

In the early morning, the troops marched 
down on the opposite side of the island, and, as 
the colonel had hoped and counted upon, the at- 
tention of the garrison was held by two battle- 
ships out in the Gulf. Approaching from the 
land side, the Federals were unnoticed, and they 
had captured the pickets and were climbing into 
the fort before the garrison was aware of their 
presence. It surrendered immediately — there 
was nothing else to do — but it is safe to assume 
that a more disgusted bunch of defenders never 
laid down arms. 

Following this bloodless victory, the Union 
troops were ferried across Matanzas Pass to St. 
Joseph’s Island. They marched up the island 
forty miles and approached the pass which is the 
entrance to Matagorda Bay from the Gulf side. 
Here was Fort Esperanza, commanding the pass, 
a very strong fortification with seven large guns 
and a garrison of eight hundred men. It was a 
large, triangular-shaped fortification with the 
side of the triangle which faced the pass bristling 
with the seven guns which bore upon the water, 
sweeping it and the beach between with frowning 
completeness. A lighthouse on the Gulf side, 
just out of range of the fort guns, marked the 
boundary of the safety zone for the Federal 


SAMMY’S LAST SKIRMISH 37 5 


troops. They early discovered that to attempt 
to proceed farther along the beach was to bring 
down the guns of the fort upon them. 

Before daylight upon an early morning in 
December, the Eighteenth was stealthily sent 
north on the land side of the fort to reconnoiter 
and to a seertain if it would not be possible to find 
a favorable location for the planting of a battery 
to shell the fort from the rear. Finding a slight 
elevation which promised well for the success of 
the undertaking, the regiment was halted while 
Sammy was ordered to advance with his company 
yet farther toward the spot where the enemy was 
supposed to be, and to ascertain the exact rebel 
position in regard to the proposed site for the 
battery. A heavy fog rolled in from the sea 
and settled over the island just before day broke. 
It rendered the darkness of the dark hour preced- 
ing the dawn so dense that it seemed hard to 
breathe and doubled the hazard of the scouting 
party, as the rebel pickets were apt to be run up 
against without the slightest warning, as the thick 
fog rendered void all outline and all sense of dis- 
tance. 

Sammy deployed the company and then ad- 
vanced in a skirmish line, stealthily but steadily, 
toward — fate. Shortly after daybreak, the fog 
lifted somewhat, and the rebel pickets stepped 
out of the gloom. A quick, uncontrollable shiver 


376 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


passed over Sammy. The dawn was so chill and 
damp, so dreary and lonely, and the end was so 
near; for not only had the pickets emerged from 
the gloom — there was the big, frowning fort as 
well, looming up out of the lifting mists closer 
than any one had ever dreamed. But he recov- 
ered instantly, for it all depended upon him, upon 
Sammy Goodman of Dubois County, Indiana. 
And as it had done so many times before, the 
sense of responsibility braced him. His order to 
fire and charge the picket line was as clear and 
ringing as ever. 

“ Drive ’em in, boys, drive ’em in,” he yelled. 

The pickets returned the fire with stubborn 
tenacity but retreated steadily toward the pro- 
tection of the fort. The sound of the skirmish 
had attracted the attention of the rebel garrison 
and it now opened fire, under cover of which the 
pickets made good their entrance to safety — not 
all, however, for more than one lay wrapped in 
the winding sheet of the fog which still clung to 
the ground. But with the return of the pickets, 
the garrison did not cease firing and Company E 
was subjected to a terrible fusillade before it 
withdrew. 

It was Zack who saw Sammy fall. He had 
been haunted, always, by this very dread. He 
cast aside his rifle, everything he carried, and 
went to Sammy. He made no outcry. He was 


SAMMY’S LAST SKIRMISH 377 


strangely calm, though he thought his friend was 
dead. But his face was much, much chalkier 
than was Sammy’s own, lying white and still upon 
the ground. 

“ I ’low I ’ll have ter pack him home after all 
— ’stid o’ him me. I wish ’t it had been the other 
way. I always wished it, but wishin’ do n’t seem 
ter count in this here world,” he thought, dumbly. 

They carried him out of range of the still 
cracking rifles, the boys of his company, and 
then they bore him back to the waiting regiment. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


THE OLD STUMP 

W HAT ’S the matter, Sammy? ” 

Sammy raised his head from his arms 
which were resting on the gate post and beheld a 
winsome girl- woman standing before him in the 
road. She had been tripping past but paused to 
exchange a word of greeting with the returned 
neighborhood hero, who was also Zack’s best 
friend. 

“ Matter enough, Susie,” said Sammy, gloom- 

ily- 

“ I hope you won’t stay mad at things long,” 
said Susie, artlessly. “ ’Pears like a body ain’t 
got no need ter git mad on sich a sweet day.” 

“ Evil is evil, little Susie, and one can’t put it 
off just because the weather is fair. It has to be 
met some time, better now and have it over and 
done with.” 

“ Mebbe not,” replied Susie, sagely. “ If you 
save it up for a rainy day, I ’low it might git tired 
o’ waitin’ an’ go ’round. What ’s pesterin’ you, 
Sammy? You look like you’d orter be in the 
hospital yit. You ’re as sailer as a summer 
squash.” 


378 


THE OLD STUMP 


379 


“ You, at least, have altogether recovered from 
your wounds. You are positively blooming 
today,” replied Sammy, heartily, and she was. 
Her sunbonnet trailed down her back, held from 
completely slipping into the dust of the road by 
loosely knotted pink strings. The warm sun of 
the spring day made her pretty brown hair to curl 
bewitchingly over her forehead, and her cheeks 
were as pink as the cluster of peach blossoms 
hanging over the fence. 

“I — I — been up ter Mis’ Posey’s ter deliver 
a message,” said Susie, blushing and dimpling, 
“ an’ I walked ’cause pap was usin’ the team, an’ 
it makes me warm,” thus she explained her 
blushes, blushing the more in the explanation. 
“ But that ain’t tellin’ what ’s pesterin’ you, 
Captain Sammy. You heard bad news from 
anybody? ” 

“ Very had news. The worst, I think, that I 
could possibly hear. The doctor has been here 
this morning, Susie. He said that I — am not 
fit enough to go back to my company,” said Sam- 
my, soberly. 

“Why, Sammy! Never?” 

“ Never. Not for a year, anyway, and then 
it will be too late. He said I might have gotten 
the best of the bullet wound if it had not been for 
the exhaustion preceding it. The typhoid and 
the marches, I have to thank for that, I reckon. 


380 THE HOGSIER VOLUNTEER 


I do n’t just see the use of my getting well at all 
— if I can’t go back. What is the use? ” 

He thought he had conquered his rebellion. 
He had fought it out up in the seclusion of the 
old attic where he and Zack had watched for 
ghosts and planned so many ’coon hunts and 
other backwoods amusements. It had taken most 
of the morning to get this grip on himself. The 
struggle had been so bitter — so bitter. It had 
brought tears — hot, man’s tears — it had ex- 
hausted him; but the storm was spent now. He 
thought he had conquered. But his voice still vi- 
brated with the sting of his protesting soul. 

It was just such another day as the one on 
which he had come home on leave of absence a 
year ago. What high hopes were thrilling him 
then! Well, he had survived Vicksburg for — 
this! Was it worth while? Company E, the 
regiment, the old Eighteenth, would go on to the 
dearly bought but glorious end, while he, he, 
Sammy Goodman, loafed around with the women 
and children! It would have been better — far 
better — to have fallen there on the Vicksburg 
slopes, or if the aim of that Fort Esperanza rebel 
had been a little truer! He had paved the way 
for the locating of the battery. It was through 
him and his that the battery had been able to get 
in behind and shell that important and menacing 
rebel stronghold on St. Joseph’s Island so effec- 


THE OLD STUMP 


381 


tively that it fell, and the passes threatened 
Federal transports and gunboats no more. If 
he could have died then, in preparing the way for 
that splendid assault — which took place while he 
lay unconscious in the field hospital — his life 
would have gone out in honor. 

He shook himself savagely free from these 
mawkish and unwholesome musings, and smiled 
at a friendly little squirrel running along the top 
rail of the fence in close proximity to where 
Sammy was leaning, while several of the less 
venturesome of his kind scampered up the tree 
trunks and chattered in the leafy boughs. Be- 
sides, the women did not loaf. Theirs was the 
hardest part of all. They must still rear the chil- 
dren and maintain their homes; they must also 
plough and plant and reap. They must be two- 
bodied and two-souled. They must be women 
and they must be men. No, the women of the war 
were not loafers. He could help Mollie till the 
war was over, perhaps then he might go out into 
the world again. He would be content until 
then. 

The air was heavily laden with the fragrance 
of blossoming fruit trees, apple and peach, and 
vibrated with the hum of bees hovering over the 
blossoms, and flashed with gay butterflies darting 
liither and yon or drowsily floating on wide- 
spread wing. Fussy, important-looking hens 


382 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


were scratching for their downy chicks in the 
barnyard, clucking incessantly, and the dreamy 
suggestion of their anxious maternal solicitude 
brought back to Sammy the memory of that day 
when he thought he was at home because of the 
old familiar sounds, and awoke to find Sara 
Brown at his bedside. No Company E — no Sara 
Brown — well, men had lived without either ! 

“ I ’most wish Zack would git wounded,” said 
Susie, plaintively. “ Then mebbe they ’d send 
him home ter git strong, an’ mebbe it would take 
him a year ter do it in. My, I do wish it — al- 
most.” 

“ He was wounded, you know, Susie, at Vicks- 
burg,” said Sammy, gently, “ but he would n’t 
come home. He left the hospital only to report 
for duty again. I would change places with him 
if I could — oh, if I only could ! That would not 
content Zack, though. He is a good soldier, 
Susie, and the best man I ever knew. You must 
love him very much to make up.” 

“Make up for what, Sammy? ” asked the girl, 
in innocent wonder. 

“ Oh, for lots of things — like playing ghost 
on him, for instance — but especially for his be- 
ing such an altogether fine fellow,” replied 
Sammy, a little sadly, recollecting that, for 
Zack’s sake if for no other reason, he must not 
say, “to make up for being blood kin to Hank 


THE OLD STUMP 


383 


Halstead.” That was his own bitterness and 
must be borne alone — and conquered — for 
Zack’s sake. “ I see you have a letter from him. 
How is the old rascal? ” 

“ Right peart, he says, but how did you know it 
was from Zack? ” inquired the puzzled Susie. 

“ Several things told me, your radiant face, 
your errand, and the gorgeous picture on the let- 
ter paper.” 

“I don’t care,” declared Susie, poutingly, 
“ he ’s the best boy in the world, if you air 
a-laughin’ at him.” 

“I’m not laughing at him, Susie. No one 
knows Zack better than I do, I think,” said 
Sammy, gravely. “ I only wish that he were 
here — safe — with you, and that I could take 
his place.” 

“You have n’t got a girl have you, Sammy? ” 
asked Susie, dreamily. “I hain’t hearn tell o’ 
any lately, so I ’low you don’t know how ’tis 
ter a girl ter be a-waitin’ for you ter come home 
from the war.” 

“ I love a girl, Susie, but she is n’t mine, and 
she isn’t waiting for me to come home from the 
war.” 

“ Your old sweetheart ’s a-comin’ back, did you 
know that? Mary Ann Hamilton an’ her pap ’s 
a cornin’ back ter Dubois County ter live. They 
moved ’way out West. You used ter set a heap 


384 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


o’ store by Mary Ann. Mebbe she ’ll do for a 
stiddy when she gits back. I hain’t never hearn 
tell o’ her gittin’ married yit. They say she ’s 
right purty.” 

Sammy shook his head, smiling a little sadly at 
Susie’s ingenuous suggestion of hope for the 
future as a consolation for his present despondent 
state of bachelorhood. Childish sweethearts were 
all very well — for children. Susie, who was 
really only a child yet and who had never had a 
sweetheart but Zack, could not know how a man 
could love the one woman whom he had met out in 
the realities of the world and away from the 
glamour of childhood. 

And then Susie said good-by and went her 
homeward way down the shaded yellow road, 
humming a little tune whose refrain was love, 
love, love. 

Again, after dinner, Sammy wandered over to 
the woodsy nook on Crooked Creek behind the 
old schoolhouse, and again he sat down upon the 
old stump and rested his chin on his hand. It was 
not the first time he had wandered there since 
that day when Sara Brown had surprised him 
a year ago. Had he really seen her then, or was 
it all a dream? Had he seen a vision? Had he, 
in very truth, taken to seeing ghosts as did his 
neighbors? Perhaps she was a dryad after all 
and would come slipping out of some tree trunk 


THE OLD STUMP 


385 


if he waited long enough. It had been the very 
first place to which he had come when he had been 
strong enough to leave his room. He cherished a 
wild, unreasonable hope that she would come to 
him again, here. Many times, sitting there in the 
soft, subdued light of the mid-afternoon forest, 
with spots of yellow sunshine flecking the mur- 
muring stream, the dreamy, drowsy whir of tiny 
winged creatures in his ears — bees and butter- 
flies and “ darning needles” — he fancied he 
heard her light footstep coming, coming, coming, 
scarcely snapping a fallen twig or crushing a 
dogwood blossom, so light it was, and yet when 
two soft hands were placed over his eyes, he had 
heard no slightest sound of anyone’s approach- 
ing. He was not very much surprised, however. 
He had so longed for it — had more than half 
expected it, and, moreover, his senses were 
steeped in the dreamy unreality of the imagina- 
tion where all things happen. But just to make 
sure that flesh and blood blindfolded him, and not 
a memory or a wood-nymph, he put up his own 
hands, as he said, a lilt of spring in his voice: 

“ You are Sara Brown! ” 

“ Wrong. It is — Mary Ann. Have you for- 
gotten me, Sammy? ” So low was the answer, it 
seemed a breath of wind might blow it away. It 
will be remembered that Mary Ann, as a child, 
was always bashful. 


386 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


Sammy did not rise to his feet immediately. 
He had first to conquer the ache in his heart be- 
fore greeting Mary Ann. How very many 
things he had to conquer of late, and the world of 
a man is not so easy to conquer as the world of a 
boy. When he did rise, grave, war-worn, sad, 
he was still the same friendly, self-confident, con- 
descending, protecting Sammy who had escorted 
Mary Ann through the gloomy, ghost-haunted, 
imagination-peopled, panther-menaced forest of 
long ago — a little less condescending, perhaps, a 
little less self-confident, a little less wise — war 
gives much, and it also takes away. And there 
was Sara Brown laughing at him as little Mary 
Ann had never dared to laugh in those old days. 
It was not until then that he knew. 

Stiller than it had ever seemed before was the 
summer forest while he held her close. It was as 
if it held its breath for fear of disturbing the 
lovers. 

“But why, why, didn’t you tell me?” was 
Sammy’s puzzled plaint. 

€t I do n’t know,” said Mary Ann, shaking her 
head as if her waywardness and willfulness were 
past understanding. “ Just because, I "low. I 
think maybe, however, that it was because you 
did n’t know me, Sammy. It hurt. I knew you.” 

“ Oh, yes,” he assented, loftily, but kissing the 
roguish face, “ How could you help it when I 


THE OLD STUMP 


387 


bawled out my presence in such important tones 
through your barred door?” 

“Remember how young you were, Sammy,” 
she said, mischievously, and then added, with con- 
viction, “ I should have known you anywhere, if 
you had never said a word.” 

“ But why so hard on me? Women change a 
lot more than men, and we thought you had 
moved Svay out West. Come to think of it, Mis- 
souri is ’way out West to us Dubois County folks, 
but somehow I had it in my head that it was 
Dakota or somewhere in the really West. And 
Zack did n’t know you, nor Herbert, nor Hank 
Halstead.” 

“ But I did n’t care anything about whether 
they knew me or not. We really were going un- 
der the name of Brown while we were in Missouri. 
After leaving Indiana we went to Illinois and 
bought a farm. Shortly before you saw me in 
Missouri we sold the farm, and on the day of the 
sale one half of the purchase price was paid to my 
father in one of the stores in the little town near 
our home. There was no one present except the 
storekeeper, my father and the man purchasing 
and a man who had only been in the neighborhood 
a few weeks. After the man who had bought our 
farm went out, my father carelessly laid his 
pocketbook on the counter and went down farther 
into the store to look at some goods. When he 


388 THE HOOSIER VOLUNTEER 


came back for his pocketbook it was not there, 
neither was the stranger. Of course he had the 
man arrested but none of the money was found on 
him and there was not evidence enough to convict 
him. Later the man moved to Missouri and 
bought a farm. Father shaved off his beard and 
changed his style of clothing and his name and we 
rented a farm next to the one this man had 
bought, hoping we might learn something that 
would prove that he took our money. I do n’t 
think he recognized my father for they had never 
met before that time in the store, but during the 
short time we were there we were not able to get 
any hint as to whether he took the money or not. 
If the Guerrillas had left us alone I think we 
might have eventually found out something. 
One of the reasons why I didn’t make myself 
known to you was because we were so poor on 
account of our loss, and I was so shabbily dressed, 
I was ashamed to let my old schoolmate know who 
I was.” 

“ Will you marry me, Mary Ann? ” 

She nodded, happily, then whispered. “ And 
now you know why Sara Brown would n’t marry 
you. She so wanted you to marry Mary Ann.” 

His heart leaped within him, but there was still 
one more thing to say. 

“ It was a costly campaign, Vicksburg, and a 
bitter. It was bloody, bloody, bloody. Don’t 


THE OLD STUMP 


389 


you think Sara Brown might have told me then 
for fear I might never know?” 

She came close, close to him. The brown eyes 
were full of tears that did not fall. 

“That is why I came to tell you now. Oh, 
Sammy, the agony, the agony, that I let you go 
— like that — and for no better reason than that 
I wanted you to know me first. For I loved you, 
Sammy, when I was only little backwoods Mary 
Ann, and I so wanted you to remember me. I 
tried to make you know me here — that day when 
it stormed. Do n’t you remember how I looked at 
you? And when you would not, I said to myself 
that you should never know through me. I would 
never tell you. But I came to tell you. I could 
not bear the agony. What if you had died ! It is 
my penance — to come to you without the asking. 
You didn’t ask Mary Ann, you know. Forgive 
me, Sammy, and love me, only love me, and I care 
not whether you marry Mary Ann or Sara 
Brown.” 

























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